Love for Sale
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: AU/Noir-ish. SACPD Detective Teresa Lisbon didn't know what she was expecting when she entered room 416 to investigate an apparent robbery, but not surely that her past was going to catch up with her, in the form of family alliances, nor that a blonde gigolo, witness to the murder, was going to turn her world upside down, with an insatiable passion and a killer hot on their tails.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Love for sale had been originally written over two years ago. For a long time I struggled with it, and eventually, I put it in a "In Hiatus" folder in my computer. But now, while "A LIE CLOSE TO THE HEART" is finished (and waiting to be betaed to be published), I decided to take a chance with it again, as I finally decided on a finale for it. The previous story had been deleted, as I re-wrote (and I am still rewriting) the first chapters I published here. I hope you'll follow me trugh this AU, where I'll do my best to keep our favorite characters in, well, character.

Good Red, and I hope I'll hear from you.

* * *

Detective Teresa Lisbon was in a bad mood.

It wasn't just that she had been forced to wake up early on her free day; it was that for the fourth week in a row she had been forced to wake up early on her free day to _go to work. _ It wasn't like she didn't like her job- hell, she had worked hard to get where she had always wanted to be- but the fact that she had a feel she knew what was going to greet her once on the crime scene. Of course, she didn't know the particulars, but she didn't have to; Major Crimes investigated the most horrid, hideous and gory cases.

_Like "normal" murder cases weren't horrid and hideous enough. _She thought as she walked in direction of her partner. Every case she had worked was already terrible on its own; murders were her "specialty", and where there was a murder, there was someone who had taken upon themselves to decide who lived and who died.

_Nobody should have that power: every human being should be the architect of their own fate. _She thought, sighing a little. A long time ago, she had truly believed that a higher power was behind such decisions, but she wasn't such a person any longer. She wasn't the young and naïve child who believed she could take her destiny in her own hands and make a difference out there into the real world.

Of course, she never showed her cynical side out there. People looked at her smile, got lost in the pool of her green, emerald-like eyes, and thought she was someone with a positive attitude toward life, someone who always saw the glass as half full and still thought she could make a difference and bring justice to victims and their families. Even her Faith in God had diminished, as the years passed; her God was now a creature who laughed in the faces of his own children and didn't take pity on their misery, the cross around her neck a mere reminder of the people she had lost. And justice…

She didn't know what to think of her job any longer. Yes, she still liked it, but the love and passion wasn't there any longer. it was just a weight, that didn't even diminish when the word "_guilty" _was said out loud by the jury.

In the last few months, the doubts had been eating her alive. She was seeing people she had knew her whole life getting married, staring a family of their own, while she was still stuck there, behind a desk doing paperwork or out in the field looking at dead bodies. When she was a child, her family had showed her the road she had been supposed to be taking, but she had refused them. had she made a mistake? Would have she been happier had she listened to the family?

She wondered if thinking what ifs and buts was going to do her any good. She hadn't taken _that life: _she had decided to be a detective and leave everything and everyone she had held dear behind, and from that, there was no turning back- not when her family was concerned, at least. Even if she decided, one day, to get back to them, they wouldn't allow her to, she knew. So, she better suck up any middle-life crisis she was having and get to her job once and for all.

"Lisbon, over here!" As she arrived at the address she had been texted to reach, Lisbon immediately heard the well-known voice calling for her. She stood, and turned, finding herself face to face with her partner, the Korean-American detective she had been working with for the better part of three years, Kimball Cho. Like always, he wasn't showing any emotion, presenting himself to the world with his everlasting poker-face. As she walked at his side through the yellow tape, she smirked, hands in her pockets, and wondered, like she did every time she saw him, what was the truth about the mystery that was his life.

Someone said Cho had had a past in the secret service, other said he had been working for the military, other said that he had been the leader of one of San Francisco's most dangerous gang, the Avon Playboys, before reforming and changing his name and his life. But nobody really knew, and Cho didn't share- maybe not even with Summer, the prostitute and informant he had been having an affair with for quite a while.

"Did Minelli tell you anything?" she asked as they walked through the hall of their crime-scene, an Hotel in Sacramento's worst neighborhood. Lisbon barely resisted the urge to put an hand on her nose, and immediately put on a pair of gloves, mentally asking herself if it was better opting to add another layer of protection: the rooms and the corridors smelt like urine, sex and sweat and rotting humanity.

"The Captain said that he wants it solved by yesterday." He simply answered. Teresa saw a brown stain on his hand as he put on his gloves, and understood her partner had been smart enough to have already his first cup of coffee of the day; she should have had it at home too, but she had wanted to oversleep for once, and then she had ben awoken by her phone while in the middle of a delicious dream…

"That bad, uh? Well, I'm surprised the Chief didn't ask for his lapdogs to get involved, then…" She chuckled humorless, feeling bile rising in her throat at the thought of the three men. Chief Bertram was well-known in the department for having raised at the top of the food chain by taking advantage of any given situation; he had probably never closed a case on his own, always using and exploiting the others, just to dispose of them like they were trash when they happened to not be of use to him any longer. Money, political connections and a shady past had gotten him where he was, and there were only three things Bertram truly trusted in his life: his face reflected on camera, and Bosco and LaRoche.

As they walked, her eyes fell on a couple of uniforms, tight around a petite boy; red-headed and with a face filled with freckles, he didn't showed more than twenty years or so, and his old, dusty uniform seemed to indicate he was some kind of bellboy. Pale and scared, he was trembling as they officers pushed him for answers. Teresa pitied him, and remembered when she would have taken any kind of job, night or day it didn't matter, to pay her studies.

And yet, she felt… something. She wasn't a profiler, nor an expert on body language, but there was something about the boy that was off, like he wasn't merely scared of the officers. As she held his gaze, she knew that sooner or later she would have talked with him, because her gut was screaming at her that there was something the boy knew and he didn't want to share with the police. But who knew, maybe the fact that she wasn't wearing an uniform, the fact that she was young- and looked younger than her own age – added to her undercover acting abilities would have helped her out in obtaining such a vital piece of information.

_Yeah, that bad. _She thought, sighing. She hated having that gut feeling. Her gut feeling was usually always right- and usually, it meant that a disaster was just around the corner, ready to strike.

Cho's phone vibrated, and Teresa lifted her gaze to look at her partner, deep in thoughts. "It's Rigsby's. He says he is in room 416, and Bertram is with him."

"Great. He finally decided to grace us all with his divine presence despite the lack of press coverage. I'm stunned." Teresa groaned, lifting her eyebrows.

"I think it's bad, Lisbon. He was the one to call me this morning about the case, and wanted for you to get involved too. Frankly, I think there's something he isn't telling us." Cho said, his voice all but a whisper as he was practically breathing the words against her sensible skin. "He was almost panicking, I could tell from his voice. And… Rigsby says he is as pale as a ghost. Like he is scared of something."

_Is the past catching up with him, too? _She wondered. Frankly, she wouldn't put anything past Bertram; his men didn't even tolerated him. he was a bad boss who didn't give a damn about his men- and Police was supposed to be family, she had been told more than once while at the Academy – but thought only about his constant presence underneath the closest spotlight. Even his (trophy) wife had been chosen in this perspective – tall, blonde, so young she could have easily been his daughter, model-like body with no brain and from money.

_It keeps getting worse. _She thought, her gut feeling reverberating through her whole being. Being happy about Bertram's troubles wasn't going to do her nay good, she knew. It wasn't just that she felt like the world as she knew it was coming to an end, it was the knowledge that Bertram would have never fell alone: he was the kind of man to bring down with himself as many people as possible, innocents included.

They reached room 416, and showed their gold shields at the officers at the door; in the semi-dark, she could already spot inside Wayne Rigsby, her friend of lifetime, (more) on- (than) off lover, and a member of her unit, too.

"Ehy Rigs, what do we got here?" She asked, as she kept getting closer and closer to him; Wayne didn't even turn to look at her, but she could see from his posture that something was off, and that her gut feeling had been yet again right- even if she didn't know why yet. The tall, dark-haired man was standing in the way of the body, shielding it from view with his frame and his own shadow.

_I have to be right, _she kept repeating to herself as she walked closer and closer to her long-time… whatever he was. _There's more than it meets the eye to this case. _All she saw when she looked around herself was a C-Class motel, natural habitat of users and prostitutes; the room looked like a mess, with the wardrobe and the drawers all open, various articles of clothing scattered all over the place. It didn't take a genius to see that someone had gone through them, and at first, any cop would have guessed a robbery gone wrong.

But if it was simply something like that, why getting Major Crimes involved? Why so many cops, and why was Bertram so worried? There was something going on there: it had to be. She knew it.

Wayne turned on his heels and approached her, and Lisbon repressed a smile at the sight of him tapping his bloody upper lip with a feminine, stark white, lacy handkerchief- "her" Wayne wasn't exactly a womanizer, but women were drawn to him and his white knight syndrome- if she had been a betting kind of woman, she would have put all her money on Wayne getting hurt in a fight to protect the honor of some girl he didn't even know.

But then, she saw the worry and hurt in his chocolate-brown eyes, and she turned her head in direction of the flashes of CSI Partridge's camera, and she felt her world crashing down. Suddenly, she turned and looked for Chief Bertram, hands on his hips in a corner, shaking his head and pale, and she pitied and sympathized with him for the first time since he had become her boss.

"He didn't tell you?" Wayne asked in the general direction of Cho, his left hand on Teresa's shoulder, both to stop her from taking another step, to comfort her and sustain her. Cho shook his head, and on his face passed a flash of something, like he couldn't understand what their point was, while she walked past Wayne, and kneeled at the side of the life-less body.

"You don't have any idea…" she whispered, resisting the urge to caress the head of the cadaver, face-down on the pavement. To the general audience, the woman seemed middle-aged and rich; it didn't take a genius to understand that she had died for loss of blood, due to the many lacerations inflicted probably by a knife. All injuries seemed to be pre-mortem, and if she had to guess, Teresa would have said that whoever had done that had tortured the woman before killing her for good.

Nobody deserved such a fate. Not even her. Especially, not her- a soul that had sacrificed so much for the others, to end just like that. And she and Wayne were probably the only ones who knew and understood how much she had gone through. Teresa turned to face Cho, and he still looked oblivious. "Oh, God, you really don't know.." she said once again, feeling bile and panic rising in her throat as she run an hand through her long, dark curls, trying to regain some semblance of control over her breathing.

_I was right. Why do I always have to be right? _She wondered as she shook her head and fought back burning tears, as the coroner finally turned the body- something, she guessed, had been already done at least once, if Bertram's state of mind was of any indication. Rigsby was breathing hard at her side, shaking his head as his heart was filled by pain at the sight of the familiar face. They hadn't seen her in over ten years, and back then her body had been younger, more toned and wasn't covered by cuts and bloods, but porcelain-like and picture-perfect.

And yet, there was no way they couldn't recognize her. Not after everything she had done for them. For Teresa.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to Angela Ruskin, daughter of the late Irish Crime Lord Daniel Ruskin the First, and wife to Thomas John McAllister." She said as she took a big breath and walked out of the door, leaning against the first wall she found.

Cho, inside room 416, held his breath. He had never seen that woman, but he had recognized any name Teresa had uttered, and a flash of worry run through his eyes as she understood why his boss was so troubled by this particular investigation, and why he had asked the intervention of the major crime unit. This was worse than any mass-media nightmare they had ever gotten involved with; the whole future of the city of Sacramento probably depended upon their investigation, and their lives too if they weren't careful.

Because _she _was dead, and all they had to do was hoping that McAllister himself was involved, because if it wasn't the case, they knew that he would have gone to the end of the world and beyond to get his revenge.

Because she was Angela Ruskin, and she was married to Thomas John McAllister- the mafia boss known as Red John.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the support on this story, I really appreciate it! I'll update A lie Close to the heart as soon as my beta get back at me, but as I told you- life sucks, sometimes, and I guess wea re both in that situation right now. Or, you know- just busy having a life in general. eh.

Anyway. onto chapter Two, with a quick look at Jane...

* * *

Holding her breath, her eyes hunted, Teresa returned into the room, and once kneed on the cold floor, she gently skimmed with her right hand over the pale, blood-stained skin of Angela Ruskin, shaking her head as she didn't believe it was really happening. The world stood still at her side, and she knew what was running through the minds of the other cops in the room, of all of them. Some saw a woman who had to have some connection with the victim, and probably felt sorry for her or thought the idea of giving her the case unhealthy; others probably knew the truth, and either believed her to be the only person to be able to close such a case, or the worst cop the case could have been given to.

Frankly, she didn't care. Whatever they thought, they were wrong, they didn't know her, didn't know Angela. The only other human being who could have gotten close to comprehend what was running through her mind and heart in that moment was Wayne, who had been through so much with her in the past. And yet, he still couldn't- not fully, at least. As similar as they were, they worlds were still a universe apart: Stephen Rigsby had been a biker who had always tried to make a name for himself, but who had always had to ask for permission to people who was more powerful than him, even just for breathing. Teresa, instead, could still clearly remember when the mere surname of her parents- _both _their surnames – awoke dread and respect in the Sacramento Underworld.

_Oh, Angie, please forgive me. _Teresa thought, close to tears, trying to fight the sensation that she could have done something to prevent this from happening, that deep down it was all her fault. She didn't voice her thoughts, though, and quickly recomposed herself. She could almost already hear people whispering at her back. _Oh, it seems Detective Lisbon knew our victim, _but she wasn't going to allow any of them to think that her relationship with Angela Ruskin-McAllister was going to cloud her judgment; nor she was going to let them think she was weak- it was a fault she wasn't going to allow them to add to her long list.

She had too many of them already: she was young (too young to be a detective according to many ), she was a woman (in a field still male-dominated) and she had her family's blood running through her veins- no matter she had abandoned them to choose a family of her own with blue blood. Many years before, listening to her mother's parting words, she had sworn she would have left everything behind eventually. That day, she had told herself that she deserved much more than what she and her brothers had been promised, and Angie, holding her like for dear life, had promised her she would have done everything, anything in her power, to make her dreams coming true. The woman had kept her promise, and now, many years later, she was dead, and Teresa couldn't shake the feeling she had something to do with it. After all, Angie had never been supposed to be there, to live that live at the side of Thomas John McAllister… if not for her.

"What…" she said at low voice as her eyes lingered on something on the body. It was wrong, oh, so wrong… and yet, it showed that she was right. There was more that it met the eyes, and everything they had been led to believe until that moment had been merely a game, smoke and mirrors and all that jazz. And the evidence was there, right before their eyes, on her left hand, on her ring finger: her wedding band, heavy and solid platinum, and an engagement ring, white gold and emeralds and diamonds. "Rigs, see if you can spot anything of value." She ordered. The tall man frowned, but as she looked at him, he saw the determination in her eyes, and did as he had been told. Teresa followed his examples, and looked around for any evidence she could have missed, fooled and moved by the body's identity.

"I've got something here." Wayne said as he fished under the bed for a rectangular item in dark blue, that it revealed itself to be an Original Chanel Vintage purse. The former arson specialist handled it his friend and superior, and Cho looked over Teresa's shoulders to see what she was going to find inside. As she went through the contents, she shook her head, and Cho looked quizzically ay was happening, too, betraying for once his poker face. A sense of danger and read was filling his whole being, remembering him of his teenage years, when war between gangs in Sacramento was everyday occurrence, and the loss could be counted daily on two hands.

"It doesn't make any sense…" Teresa muttered as Wayne kept looking around, doing his best to find evidence of his own without **contaminating** the crime scene. He was looking at the open drawers, when suddenly, something shiny in a corner of the wardrobe caught his eye, hidden by the clothes scattered all over the place. He carefully moved the pieces of clothing around, and kneeled on the ground, and checked to make sure he wasn't wrong: indeed, he found an hidden safe, still closed. "Don't get me wrong, but how much of this makes sense to you? Because this mess should cry robbery gone wrong, but I look around and I see designer and vintage pieces of clothing, worth of thousands of dollars, and here, right before our eyes… a safe. Still closed."

"It doesn't mean anything. Whoever did this, they didn't have to know for sure that this stuff was valuable." Cho said, crossing his arms, trying to be the voice of reason. Or was it the other way around? The part of him that screamed at him that everything was going to go to hell was getting louder and louder, and the evidence was all over the place. Once again his eyes fell on Lisbon, and he pitied her. If what people said about her was true, this case was going to cost her everything, maybe even her soul, for he knew what it meant when your past came knocking at your door demanding answers and payments in blood.

"Really?" Rigsby asked, chuckling and lifting his eyebrows and opening his arms, like in surrender. "Ok, let's say you are right, and they left her stuff here because they didn't know what they were dealing with. But how do you explain the safe?"

Cho stared at his other partner without batting an eye. "Maybe they didn't know there was a safe. Or maybe they did, and they just didn't have the tools to open it."

"It's a motel safe, Cho. I could ask T for a pin and I could open it. Keeping my eyes closed the whole time. At the age of six." Rigsby kept pointing an angry finger at Cho, determination written all over his features. Teresa looked at him, an sometimes, she didn't know what to do or to think. He scared her, if she had to be honest, because she looked at him and saw his own father, mad with one of his men- or his wife, or his own son- ready to hit whoever was closer and frailer.

_No, _she thought closing her eyes, fighting the memories. _He would never do that. He has suffered too much. Because of that man. He would never turn into him. _

But then the whispered laugh took her back to reality and to her present, and she turned to face the uniformed cops that had laughed- probably a gossip or remark about Wayne and his troubled past, his upbringing and all the rest.

"He is right, Cho. Besides, look here." She threw him the purse, and hands on her hips she looked at the whole room, trying to memorize as much as possible, trying to see all the missing of the puzzles. She took a big breath and pinched, briefly, the bridge of her nose, then she huffed and turned to face yet again her partner of three years. "they didn't leave just the purse. Her wallet is still there, with credit cards, her IDs, her mobile… they just took the money from her wallet, but for the rest, it's all here. I mean, look at her, she is even still wearing her jewels!"

"Maybe they didn't know if they could fence them. As far as they knew, they could have been personalized."

She shook her head. "No, that would imply that they knew she is Angela McAllister." She said, her heart losing a beat as she referred to Angela in the present tense instead than in the past. "And no one in Sacramento in their right mind would be willing to steal from McAllister- and kill his wife while they are at it. Trust me, this isn't a robbery gone wrong."

"Then, what do you think?" Wayne asked, arms crossed at his colleagues' sides.

"I really don't know. It doesn't look premeditated, otherwise they would have staged it better. Then, maybe…" she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose like she did whenever she was stressed or nervous. "Maybe it was a message from the criminal underworld. Just because McAllister has never been proven guilty, it doesn't mean he is without enemies. His marriage alone was proof enough of his connection with the mob, and God only knows how many people out there are mad with him."

"What if it was some kind of initiation? A rookie trying to make a name for himself. It would explain the mess, doesn't it?" Wayne asked, looking at Cho, their resident expert on the matter.

Teresa held her breath as she waited for Cho to answer. She begged with every cell of her being that her friend and lover was wrong; if it really gang-related, or it was some kind of retaliation against McAllister, sooner than later more bodies were going to pop up out of the blue. Touching someone from McAllister's people meant war, and everyone in the Sacramento crime underworld was supposed to know it. If it was gang-related, she pitied the poor bastards that were going to vanish in thin air in a matter of days, without a trace. McAllister had always been good enough to hide behind a mountain of off-shore accounts and alias after alias, but he was far from clean. Words were that he was bloody and vindictive, and that he took great delight inflicting unimaginable sufferances upon his enemies, knowing that no one would touch him.

"Yeah" the cop simply said, shrugging his shoulder. "Or maybe we are looking at it completely wrong, and the reason nothing is missing is that something _is _missing, but we don't know it yet."

_Yeah, I can so see McAllister providing us with a complete list of his wife's possessions… _She hoped it truly not was gang-related, as a war was the last thing she felt like dealing with. "We can't leaven any option out. Cho, check with the gang unit and see whose territory is this and if this may look like one of their initiations. Also, call your informants and see if they've heard of someone trying to make a name for themselves."

"The two main reasons for murder are women and money." Teresa almost jumped as she heard the voice at her side, and glared in direction of the criminologist, and so did her colleagues. They hadn't even noticed that Partridge was still with them, but it wasn't like it was the first time it happened. The man had the ability to appear like from thin air, taking away at least five years of live from the people he was with, and was creepy. Not in a physical kind of way- he was nowhere close to be Lisbon's type, but he was good looking –but because of his obsession with death and serial killers. Frankly, they all believed he had joined the force to be close and personal with bleeding bodies.

Teresa sighed, hating how he would get al know-it-all when he started. She knew what was coming, and yet, she knew it wasn't like she could stop, or prevent it. After all, she needed his help too nowadays to solve cases and bring them to court.

"Ok, Partridge, enlighten me." There was an hint of exasperation as she huffed the words between clenched teeth. As much as he was creepy, and as much as she hated that he had chuckled while uttering his previous sentence, the guy knew how to do his work, and in a couple of occasions he had even been right. Yes, he was a creepy pervert, but at least he was an educated one. Of course, if he would have just stopped behaving like that annoying character she had seen in a couple of episodes of CSI, it would have helped.

"I was checking the room with Luminol when you arrived, and how you'll see from my pictures, the bed sheets have a winner: biological fluids, and not of the blood quality. Our lovely lady here, I think she had a lot of fun before the fun was over once and for all for her." He chuckled, and Teresa could imagine him with Rayban sunglasses, trying his best CSI Miami Horatio Kane impression. God, how much she hated him, he literally made insides hurt. Without bothering to glare, Teresa left the room and went back to the corridor with the excuse to check on the others, but the truth was that she couldn't handle her feelings any longer. If she stayed one other second in the room, she would have hit the pervert.

"Teresa?" Wayne whispered her name as he put an hand on her shoulder, and she shook her head, barely resisting crying. She looked into her friend's eyes, and saw what she had already seen so many times, what had been there as long as she had known him. She saw Wayne taking a big breath, and immediately she took a step back; it wasn't the time, nor the place. Besides, hadn't they said it was wrong, that they had to stop it because it was unhealthy for the both of them? They werent0 kids any longer, and as much as she was still attracted to him- and him to her- and as much as easier it would be to just be with someone who knew and didn't judge, she wasn't going for that. They both deserved better, and it was time they started to think about themselves instead of comforting the other between the sheets of a bed.

"He practically called her a whore…" she said, leaning against the wall, and Wayne put an hand on her shoulder, looking at her.

"Teresa, he may be an insensitive jerk, but he may be partly right…"

She shook her head, pointed and angry finger at him. "You don't get to say that about Angie, Wayne. You just can't. What, you already forgotten whose door you came knocking to when your father hit you? Who mended your wounds?"

"I know what she did for us, all right? I do! But…" he looked around and lowered his voice, his hands on her shoulders as to try to calm her down, to anchor her to this new reality that seemed to be able to burn them all down. "The room was strangely clear for an establishment of this kind, and the only stains found were of sperm and her blood. Add to that the fact that someone had raided the room, like to make sure they weren't going to leave any evidence of their passage there, and you'll admit that the crime of passion looks likely."

Teresa looked one last time in direction of the room, feeling like she was still there. She knew that the hotel was going to hunt her dreams for a long time to come- maybe even her whole life- along with the knowledge that she could have stopped this from happening with just one little word. Angela's blood was going to be again on her hands, whatever she liked it or not.

"So, what? We are dealing with someone who hasn't seen one single episode of CSI in their whole life and didn't know how to take forensic countermeasures? Or maybe they are in AFIS and not CODIS, and now we are screwed, but maybe…"

Wayne lowered his head, his voice a whisper. "I think you should talk with the boss, and consider the idea of closing this case as a robbery gone wrong. Allow it to get cold."

"No" she simply said, shaking her head, biting her lips. "No, no way."

"Teresa…" he sighed, looking at her like she was an exasperated child who didn't want to get her lesson right. "Teresa, if you aren't careful, this case could be ruin."

"I don't care. She saved me, Wayne. I owe her that much." _You do too, _she thought, but she allowed her yes to say it for her. Wayne knew her better than she did herself: you have gotten it.

"Teresa, if we are not careful, we'll ruin this whole town. If this is a gang-related, Red John will not allow anyone to get away with it, and it will start raining bodies. And if this is a crime of passion…" he paused, looked around, making sure no one would hear them. "What if he did kill her? You know what happens to people who messes with him."

"Or maybe it's him." Teresa said, her eyes looking in the distance at another member of her unit, Ron, busy questioning the bellboy. "and this time we bring him down once and for all."

"Teresa.." Wayne answered, begging her. But he knew Teresa Lisbon. Once she put her mind on something, there was no turning back.

_You don't have to follow me to my grave, you scarified enough for what you think is love. _She wanted to tell him, but she didn't; deep down, she knew that she needed him. Maybe not his presence in her bed- even if she certainly appreciated – but Wayne kept her grounded, remembered her why she was a good cop, and what she was supposed to do to stay one. Just with a look, or a simple touch.

Instead, she said. "Did he find the body?" indicating with a movement of her head the boy. Wayne nodded, and with a smirk, Lisbon started to walk in the child's direction.

"What are you doing?" Wayne asked her, walking quickly at her side.

"I think that the boy knows more than he is willingly to say. But who knows, maybe a good-looking girl could convince him to open up…" she sighed, dreamy as the best, and yet worst, actress, and unbuttoned the first three buttons of her black shirt, fluffing meanwhile her hair.

"Ron?" She practically sing-sang as she joined him. "I can take it from here, thanks. Could you drive Rigsby back to the precinct? Thanks!"

Ron simply nodded, and the two men walked away, Wayne sending daggers in her back, as she stood in silence for a while, looking at the young man before her. He was just a kid, probably high school or first year of college, and the fear and the discomfort in his eyes remembered her of her brother, James. She but her lips, overcame by the memories. She had to press this boy, had to know if he was hiding something from them, if he knew something he hadn't shared yet. He could be the key to solve the case, maybe even to send McAllister behind bars for the rest of his sorry life.

"I'm detective Lisbon- Teresa." She corrected herself, smiling and offering the child her hand. Being too official wasn't going to help, and she didn't want to scare him with her Major Crimes status, nor with her bad cop attitude. But she could see there was something troubling him- he kept looking at his feet, avoiding eye-contact, and he had scratched the skin of his thumb with the index, so much that his hand was covered in crimson blood. Teresa put and hand on his shoulder, trying to bring him back to reality, to that corridor and not the room with the cadaver, and her eyes fell on the name-tag- his name was Luke Donovan.

"Detective Rigsby told me you found the body." He nodded, sniffing with his nose, his eyes glassy. "Luke, could you tell me why were you there? The hotel doesn't have room service, I recon.."

The boy shook his head again, but this time he lifted his eyes until he didn't meet Teresa's. "I saw him leaving in an hurry. I thought Miss Angela had already gone, maybe while it wasn't my shift, so I went to the room to put it in order."

_Miss Angela _seemed very informal for a bellboy, Teresa thought. And even in his eyes, there was something she could almost recognize as her own: the pain of knowing that someone she knew and cared for had been taken away with brute force. "How well did you know her, Luke?"

"Not that well, but… she insisted that we called her Miss Angela. She was good with us. Always." Luke took a big breath, and put his hands in the pockets of his red, velvet and dusty uniform. "When I took the job around six months ago, the guy who works the other shift, he told me she came one day around seven, eight months ago, and asked for a room. For the whole month. She had been here ever since."

"Eight months ago?" she asked, perplexed. It was strange; she guessed she would have at least heard if there were troubles in paradise in the McAllister household.

"Yeah. Every first of the month, she came and paid for the whole. But the boss said to keep it quiet, because the money is… was good, and the tips even better, and she was nice with us. All we had to do was going to the room when they left, and keep it clean and in order."

"Do you think she lived here?" she asked, and the boy shook again his head.

"She came here once, sometimes twice a week. She stayed a couple of hours, and then she left. _He _never left- that's why I went to the room. He was always there when Miss Angela was in the room, so I thought they were both already gone." The boy looked around, then got closer and closer to Lisbon, and talked with her in a conspiracy tone. "The people I work with, they think the room was for him. A gift, or, you know, a payment of sort."

"And you are talking about the man you saw leaving the room in a hurry, right?" Better to have her case in order and avoid inaccuracies or mistakes. She thought. Maybe Wayne and partridge were right, and the crime of passion was the right angle to play.

"He came and went as he pleased; sometimes we stood weeks before seeing him, sometimes he stayed inside the room for days. But when Miss Angela was here, he was never far, nor he left. It was like he didn't want, or couldn't leave her side. That's why I went to the room. I mean… he left in such an hurry, with a couple of suitcases… I thought maybe… they had a fallout or… her husband had found out about… him, you know."

"Who told you that Miss Angela's lovers was an escort?" she asked, adding two plus two, and connecting all the dots.

"I've never…!" Luke said, taking a step back, trying to defend himself, looking for an escape.

"No, you never said it, but you implied that she was seeing an escort when you talked about a payment for him. So, is that who he was?"

Luke shook his head. "I mean, it's not like we know the guy, or one of them talked, but, we just guessed it made sense, all right? And, don't get me wrong, it's not because she was older then him. I mean, older women can be hot, all right?"

Teresa rolled her eyes- Luke's eyes were firmly on her breasts, on the skin left uncovered by the open buttons of her blouse. _Man are so easy, _she thought.

"I mean, he looked like one. How he behaved, I mean. Or some kind of kept man, maybe. He spent money here and there, tipped us big time, like he wasn't even spending his own money. And when Miss Angela wasn't here, he came with many other women, too. All rich and classy. And all older then him."

"I guess you don't happen to have a name.." she didn't even bother to ask if they had surveillance cameras- _unlikely, _she guessed. That wasn't the kind of establishment that liked having its costumers being recognizable.

"They used often pet names, but I think she called him Rick one. Other than that, I don't know. I mean, you should have seen how he looked at her, like my parents, you know? I belied he was a boyfriend, or maybe that they were having an affair. But then he started coming here with other women, and he was way too casual about it. Like he didn't care we were seeing him sleeping around." He paused, like to better concentrate, his eyes getting a faraway look. "He is, I don't know. Charming, magnetic. You feel attracted to him, and I just don't mean sexually. It's like people felt the need to be around him, and man, doesn't he enjoy it?"

Ok. A male escort by the name of Rick; it wasn't a lot, but added to this the fact that Luke had seen him plenty of times, well, it gave her something to work with.

"Have you already given my colleague a description?"

Luke shook his head. "No, but trust me, you can't forget him. Around thirty years old, a little less than six feet, in good shape, always wearing tailored suits, like Armani or Calvin Klein, and then I think… green eyes? But not like yours: more like a mixture of green and blue, and then there are the curls. Blonde curls. My girlfriend talked with him once in the lobby, and couldn't stop being dreamy about them for a whole week." He paused. "I'm not sure if he looks more like a model or a god."

"So, let's say I'd ask you to follow me to the precinct and I show you some pictures…. Do you think you could recognize him?" she asked, flirting a little.

"You kidding? The guy is freaking perfect! Everybody could recognize him after having seeing him just once!"

She called back Ron, and asked him to bring the guy downtown, saying that she would have joined them asap; then, she got back to the room, where Cho and Rigsby were still waiting for the CSI guys to finish examine the crime scene. "Cho, I want you to look into the gang initiation theory. Rigsby, debrief with organized crime, and see if they have heard something about a mob hit. I'll talk with our bellboy and check in with Vice. Words were Angela was staying here with a gigolo, who had been quite in an hurry to flee the crime scene just before the body was found."

"What are you saying? That Partridge is right and we may already have our murderer?" Wayne asked as they left the room, and he walked her to her car, an hand on the small of her back.

"Or maybe we have a witness. And a way to send behind bars Red John once and for all."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the support on this story, I really appreciate it! I'll update A lie Close to the heart as soon as my beta get back at me, but as I told you- life sucks, sometimes, and I guess wea re both in that situation right now. Or, you know- just busy having a life in general. eh.

Anyway. thnaks to anon reviewers, and noiw chapter 3 without further ado!

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She had hoped that Luke would have been able to quickly identify the mystery man Angela had been last seen with, but, even with Vice's records, she seemed to be hitting wall after wall. _Too short, too tall, too muscular, too young, that looks a bit like him but I'm not completely sure, and I'm supposed to be sure about these things, right?._ None of them seemed to match the description of the ghostly "Rick".

Teresa tried to resist looking at the kid like she wanted to strangle him on the spot, didn't scream nor tried to play bad cop with him- Ron had questioned him for half an hour and had gotten nothing out of the kid –but the whole thing was starting to get on her nerves. The case alone was bad enough given the repercussions that she knew were waiting for them just around the corner, but added to that there was the personal connection she shared with the victim, the fear and guilt that she could have been partly responsible. And the fact that she felt like she didn't know Angela any longer, all because she had practically abandoned her; besides, Lisbon couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that Angela had had an affair: The Ruskins had always been faithful Catholics, and Angela had practically behaved like a nun her whole life, it was completely out of character. But then again, what did Teresa know about it? It wasn't like she had been around that much since she had turned twenty-one: situations changed, and with them, people too. As far as she knew, sleeping around would have been impossible for the old Angela, but what about the new one, the one molded by events out of her control, by a choice that had been of Angela and Angela alone, but really wasn't?

Then, as she was about to give up, and declare that the gigolo wasn't, apparently, a gigolo as he wasn't on record, Teresa had a sort of epiphany. Luke was already standing, shaking his head in disdain and saying again and again he was sorry, his eyes always pointed in direction of Teresa's open buttons, when she suddenly asked him something.

"Would you do me one last favor, Luke? I think there may be still an angle to cover…" Smiling, she guided him toward a small, secluded and dark corner, void of any light, where a young, pretty red-head, a little older than her witness, was boringly going through case-files, getting info others had taken out into the street into a computer- _Not what I signed for when I joined the academy, _she liked to tell her boss. But Grace Van Pelt was the newcomer, and there was a certain order to things. A long time before, she would have started checking the streets and giving parking tickets, nowadays she was instead a little more than a "lab rat", and all because she happened to know how to use a computer.

"Van Pelt, would you like to help me out on a case?" Teresa asked, and the red-head jumped- literally- at the occasion, standing on her feet so quickly the chair fell on the floor at her back.

"What can I do for you, boss?" She asked, her eyes teary with anticipation and emotions. Teresa felt almost bad for what she was about to ask the girl; Grace seemed to think she was going out in the field, ready to fire her gun, and she didn't even suspect what her boss had planned for her.

"Agent Van Pelt" She said, clearing her voice, blushing a little, knowing what a delusion it would be for poor Grace. "This is Luke Donovan, and he is the one who found Miss Ruskin dead. Mister Donovan saw our victim in the company of a young man, but we didn't have any luck until now in finding him in our archives. We were wondering if you could give us an hand."

"Uhm. Sure?" Grace asked, feeling that there was something behind the whole thing, something she wasn't going to enjoy one bit. Her enthusiasm quickly died down, and soon she found herself sat again in her chair, extremely composed and a bit awkward.

"This person of interest in the case… we suspect he may like hanging around with the beautiful people. So, as I've been told you're an authority in gossip, I was wondering if you and Mister Donovan could have a look at some on-line sites, and see if we could come up with something."

"Oh." Grace said, her voice little as she lowered her head. "Uhm. Sure, ma'am." Teresa sighed. It was never a good sign when Van Pelt called her _ma'am_, it meant that the poor girl was really disappointed. _One of these days, I'll take her with me, _the cop promised herself as she went back in her office and thought about her next move in the incoming crime war in Sacramento.

Half an hour later, Grace was knocking at her door, asking her boss to follow her to her desk; Teresa did so, and kneeled in the small corner, and looked at the brand new Full HD LED flat screen – a personal purchase from the redhead –and was grateful for the girl's constant rabbling about gossip. Teresa was almost positive that the redhead had done so only in the vain attempt of finding a common ground with her superior, but at least it had been proven useful in some way.

"Ok, who am I looking at?" Teresa asked.

"We don't know yet." Grace explained as many pictures, taken at various parties in the Sacramento area, showed middle-aged women in the company of the same man. Barely resisting sighing, Teresa had to agree with Donovan: he looked like an Adonis, and just looking at his pictures made her lose a beat or two and the breath dying in her throat. She even felt a gush of desire, and she immediately got mad with herself. That man was… well, he wasn't a good man, and she had never met him in person. There was no way she could desire him. It was completely irrational: only little girls pined after men they had never met, actors, singers and such.

_Pathetic. I definitely need to get laid, _she thought, nodding to herself. Maybe she could have given a call to her ex, Walt, for old times' sake. Or maybe she would have asked Wayne to have a drink with her at a bar nearby, and then, she would have allowed things to escalate on their own accord. Rigsby could be a real knight, but he had never turned down a night of sex with her since they were teenagers, there was no reason to think he would have said no just now.

"Then, why am I here?"

"Well… I put his picture in the facial recognition software, and maybe… if he has priors in others states or as a minor, we could get a result." Teresa sighed, but paced the room, awaiting for the software to stop running. When it did, she saw the image of a sixteen years old glaring at her, impudent and smart-ass. And yet, already beautiful.

Patrick Jane was born in Maine on January the 31st in 1981; mother unknown, his father was Alexander Samuel Jane, some kind of circus royalty who had traveled the States along with his son with a psych act- the boy being the main star of the event, with the stage name of "The Boy Wonder".

Then, in 1997, Patrick's traces vanished, and the boy resurfaced only two years later, in 1999, as soon as he had turned legal. The address was the same as a woman called Mariah Sheldon, 38 years old, and there was a note in the file that said that the former Mister Sheldon had denounced her, fearing that they boy was a minor and his wife an unfitting mother with child-molesting issues; coincidentally, Mariah was also the heir of one of California's greatest real estate fortune, and her ex had married her just when her trust found became accessible to her. Checking some details here and there, it didn't took them long to see that everything at the end was cleared out, and Mariah turned out to be just one of those women falling crazy in love with much younger men who could have been their sons, a much younger man who left her after few months, with thousands of dollars in his pockets and a Vintage car worth six figures. The money was a problem, Teresa thought, but the car had belonged to the ex-husband, so, really, Teresa was kind of glad. If that wasn't divine justice, she really didn't know how to call it.

Since that day on, there were pictures of him hanging around with the beautiful people, impressing older woman and getting whatever he wanted whenever he fancied it- sex, money, car and jewels or clothes, apparently it didn't matter. Mancini at Vice didn't know of him, but his partner was old-school, and remembered the "kid", as he had nicknamed Jane. He didn't have a record with them, but he had paid him a visit a couple of times – always in clubs and such, as apparently Jane didn't have a proper home- accusing him of being a male escort. Jane had simply laughed, and turned his charm on the cop, and Lorenz had to admit that it had been hard even for him, a well-known womanizer, resisting temptation.

Luke had been right, apparently: with this Jane guy, it wasn't just about the sex, but being around him and making him happy. They couldn't prove he was a male escort or a con-artist, as the money was willingly given by women he often lived with, there were clean records of the transitions, and the things he received were gifts for the perfect boyfriend.

And then, zero, nada, night. Seven months prior, there weren't new images of famous womanizer Patrick Jane in the net any longer. If Luke hadn't seen him, she would have said he was dead, despite the lack of death certificate. It was like he had vanished: his assets were like frozen, his IDs never showed up on any radar, and Lorenz had told her he had started to assume he had either gotten married, left or being killed and disposed by some cheated spouse.

Instead, he had lived for over six months inside that hotel room with Angela Ruskin-McAllister, as her kept-man, and now that Angela was dead, he had vanished yet again. Teresa sighed. How the hell could she find him? She was starting to think the man had been merely a witness, and now who knew whom could be hot on his heels. Maybe even McAllister's men. Patrick Jane had been raised to be a con artist and a womanizer, he knew what he was supposed to do, knew how to vanish; he wasn't oblivious, and he was probably aware that he had people looking for him, and not only the Police. That, if he was still alive, and she would have never pout anything behind McAllister's men.

And then, someone in one of the pictures took her attention, and she immediately dialed a number she almost knew at heart, thanking God for her luck- and who knew, if she was _really _lucky, she could even manage to kill two birds with one stone.

"Good morning, I'm Teresa Lisbon. I'd like to book an appointment… yes, it's been a long time, Gladys, I know… yes, it's urgent. This afternoon? Perfect." She smiled, and went back to her office, and took her jacket. There were a couple of people she had to see, if she wanted to get at the bottom of this, and then… then, Patrick Jane would have been hers, and with him, the chance to send Red John on death row.

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She parked her car not so far away from the smoky bar, a place where people usually discussed (dirty) business while drinking Irish beer and playing few games of darts and pool, all the while looking at the races or some soccer game on an old TV that had seen better days since it had come out from some European factory of the East in the Eighties. She left her badge and her on duty gun hidden in the car, making sure, though, that the one on her ankle was fully loaded. She knew that she really didn't need it, as she was more than capable to put down men twice her size, but she knew too well where she was going.

She felt a bit like Dante Alighieri when, in the _Divine Comedy_, he read "_All hope abandon, ye who enter in!_" on the doors of hell. She was nervous, and yes, even scared, because there were people knowing who and what she was without needing to see her badge, but she really didn't know how to act otherwise; _he _would have never talked with her if she had arranged a date, or gone to his apartment.

She spotted him almost immediately, ruffled semi-long dark hair, old, dirty clothes, worn for way too many days, and when she spotted the all too familiar empty glasses of scotch in front of him, she froze. Right there before her eyes there was the evidence of her greatest fear turning into reality, the evidence of her failure and of her many mistakes. Once again she wondered what she did wrong, when all she had at heart was their good. _Hell's roads are paved with good intentions, _she read once, and apparently, it was true, because all around her there was only destruction and pain.

"Ehy, Tommy." She said in a low voice as she approached him, an hand on his shoulder to reassure him, just like she did when he was a child and their father beat them. But they weren't' children any longer, both their parents had been long dead, and Tommy, her sweet, beautiful, smart and caring little brother, the one she had tried to rise as her own, had turned into a drunk just like their father- a drunk who didn't give a damn about his life, or the ones of the people who cared about him.

He didn't give any sign of wanting to acknowledge her presence, so she sat at his side, and asked at the bartender one of whatever her little brother was having- Tequila was his poison of choice – and told him why she was there. "I just need to ask you a couple of questions about Angela."

"You are such a cop, Reese…" Tommy chuckled, sipping his drink quickly. He shook his head, and wondered what Teresa would do if he were to leave in that moment. "Well, word in the street is that she is dead. And I've also been told that it's you she has to thank for that. Care to share how you feel about that, sis? Or you just don't give a damn you ruined her life, just like you did with ours?"

"I didn't force Angela to marry him, Tommy. She did it on her own accord." She got colder and colder, her breath hot on his face as she hissed the next words at low voice. "like she choose to have an affair. So, what's the word on the street about that, uh? That Thomas knew and decided to punish her because she was supposed to be his propriety?"

"And how am I supposed to know this, sis?" he chuckled, almost evilly, gesturing to the bartender for another drink; Teresa felt herself getting sick with the smell of alcohol and the pain, running through her veins like liquid fire, but the cop in her remembered her that the more Tommy got drunk, the easier it would be to get information out of him. She hated this, hated even herself, but she had tried to help him, and he had pushed her away. At least… at least, this way, all the pain was going to be of some good.

"Do you remember when the family kicked us out because you wanted to join the police? Or when Angie had to marry Thomas because you had refused to do as you've been told since we were kids?" Tommy hissed, his teeth clenched, his fists closed. Teresa saw his dark eyes, filled with pain and rage, as he turned to face her, and on instinct she felt like reaching for her gun. Her hand went to her hip, but she found the spot naked where there usually was cold metal, and she berated herself for having being scared of her little brother. There was no way Tommy was so far gone. He couldn't hate that much- not even her.

"I'm not a stupid, Tommy. You like being an informant, getting the best out of both worlds. Small time criminal by day, and by night you get your ass saved because you spill your gut." She chuckled, shaking her head. Tommy was peculiar; being the good older sister wasn't going to work with him. Better the bad cop attitude, with a guy like him. "So, what, did Thomas discover of the affair, or was Angie thinking of coming to us?"

"We aren't part of the family any longer, Reese." He justified himself. "I've heard only rumors."

"It's enough, Tommy." She told him, her hand again on his shoulder, plea in her sweet, big eyes. "I don't have a lot, but I'm willingly to listen to rumors too. And then, if I'm right… you could stop being scared, always looking behind your back. You could have a normal life…" she paused. "You could get Annie back in your life."

Tommy shook his head, sobbing at the mere mention of his daughter's name; he hid his face behind his palms and sobbed some more, wondering how old she was now, how could she look like; it had been years since he had last seen her, when her mother had given him an ultimatum, and he had given her the wrong answer.

He took a big breath, and looking at his reflection in the mirror before him, he started talking.

"I don't know, I'm not sure. But, people says Thomas got mad when he discovered Angie was having an affair. You know how he is, right? She got scared…"

"And?" she pushed. Her stern look had always worked with him, there was no reason to doubt it was going to fail her now, even if they weren't children any longer.

"And… I'm drink buddies with Shawn, one of Thomas' men, and when he got drunk… well, he likes to talk, and he is prone to blackouts. So, anyway, couple of weeks ago we get drunk together, our usual thing, and he says that Thomas is mad because a USB Stick has vanished from his cellar after Angie had gone there to take a bottle of red. Shawn guessed that she had gave it to lover boy as some kind of insurance, in case something like that happened to her."

_That's why the room was a mess. They were looking for the USB Stick, _she thought. "Any idea if Thomas did it or it was lover boy?"

Tommy shook his head, gulping down a mouthful of saliva. "Reese, I swear on mum's soul, I don't know who did the killing, nor where her lover may be." Her phone beeped with a text, and she immediately looked at it; her booked appointment had turned into a simple phone call, but she still had gotten what she needed, apparently.

"Yeah, well, just my luck I do, then." She said at low voice, holding her breath. She left her spot at the aisle, paid the bill for both her and her brother, and patted him on the shoulder once more. "Thanks, Tommy, and take care." She didn't need to tell him to call her whenever he decided it was time to get help, she had already said it too many times to count, and he already knew that she would have been there for him when he would be ready to get help.

She went to her car, and inserted in her GPS the address she had been just texted, belonging to Jane's latest conquests before he started seeing Angela: Marie Jarrett, ex-wife number one to her one-time fling, Walter Mashburn.

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Ok. She could do this. she had worked vice for over a year when she had left the academy, playing jail-bite, so she could really rock the undercover gig. She just had to believe it, and act like it was natural for her wearing a designer short, form-fitting dress who showed so much décolletage it was like she wasn't wearing anything.

But the dress wasn't really a problem. It was having a gun hidden in her purse, instead than on her. she wasn't used to this, and the sensation made her feel like she was naked. She hated feeling that way, exposed. Her gun and her shield were like an armor, and made her who and what she was; without them, she was back to that eighteen years old, with no future but the one forced upon her by her family, just a piece of a collection, a means to an end, a piece of meat.

_A niece, sweet piece of ass, _Ray had rudely called her when they had first been officially introduced to each other, back when she was sixteen, with a crude laugh and an hand patting with force her behind, like she was nothing but her father's daughter, her grandfather's heir, and not a real person – her _own _person.

But, she couldn't think like that, not now. She closed her eyes and held her cross for an instant, praying that she had been lucky and right, and that he indeed was there. Criminals always returned to the crime scene, right? It was in profiling 101. And Jane was in trouble, and apparently, he had been quite fond of this particular "victim", so maybe…

She knocked with all her strength on the door, and then started to ring the doorbell, never stopping pushing until a brunette went to answer the door. When it happened, Teresa put on her best mad expression, and waked past the woman inside.

"Where is he? I know he is here!" Teresa grunted, faking tears of rage. All she had to do was thinking about something that would make her mad, and the tears would just come her way- Shakespeare at school had been useful, who would have ever guessed so?

"What? How dare you…" The woman said, grabbing Teresa for the arm. "Out of my house!"

"The hell!" Teresa answered, getting free from the brunette's hold. She heard water running on the first floor, a shower, if she could make an educated guess. "Where's Walter? You two think I don't know he is been sleeping with you again?"

She stormed into the general direction of where the sound was coming from, and when Marie was already trying to stop her again- futile, as Teresa had stopped people bigger than the rich divorcee – Teresa opened the door of the bathroom, and stormed inside, sniffing like she was a child whose favorite toy had been stolen. The steam and the humidity were suddenly glued to her skin, and she remembered that whoever was in the shower -and she wasn't sure yet it was Jane- was naked, and well… maybe she wasn't exactly pure, but she was a good Catholic, and well… there could be a very sexy naked man in the shower…

She took a big breath, and shook her head. She definitely needed to get laid asap, if thinking about her potential murderer/witness/person of interest got her all aroused.

"Walter! I know you are there!" she screamed as she pulled open the curtains of the shower, revealing underneath the cool jets and around a curtain of steam a man younger than Walt, blonde and sleek and damn sexy, still busy shampooing his hair. "You… you are not Walter!" she said, blushing and babbling a little, like it was part of the play.

"Well, obviously not." He said, rinsing his hair as her eyes were glued to what she could see of him of his profile, the toned back, and the… _Feet. Big feet. Concentrate on his feet. It's not the first time you see a naked man. _

"But… I think you already knew it. Just, you can fool Marie, but me? Not so much." He said as he left the shower, standing naked and dripping water on the marble floor right before her, smirking with his arms crossed. "But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. I'll not tell Marie that you are a Police officer that entered in her home without being invited or a warrant."

"How do you…" she said as she held her breath, the smirking man getting closer and closer until he had cornered her. He was so close their noses were practically touching, she could almost feel his breath on her lips, and his fingertips were dancing sensually and teasingly on her right shoulder.

"That's all right, I told you, your secret is safe with me. But I need you to relax and count back from ten to one if you don't want to give yourself away. A charge against you wouldn't look good on your résumé, right? Because I know how much you like being a cop… ten, take big breaths and close your eyes… nine, think about your office, and the steady weight of your gun in your hands. It's good, isn't it? You feel so safe… eight… yes, people are looking at you, saluting you. Just think about how your future may be bright if you'll not have issues… no charges, no suspicions on you… seven…"

And that got her. That wasn't her life, just a dream. She lived with suspicions every damn day, had done so for over ten years, and just because this man said that it wasn't real and that she could have a dream happy place, or whatever, it didn't make it true.

She sighed, between half-closed lids, and looked at him dreamily. Then, when he was finally letting it go of her shoulder, she grabbed him for the wrist, and with a martial art move she got him on the ground, underneath her, still naked and wet, and kept hold of him by grabbing his rebel curls.

"Ehy, show some respect!" he pouted.

"Really, Mister Jane? You tried to hypnotize me and you tell _me_ about respect?"

"Ok, Listen" he tried to defend himself, trying to find a middle ground, lifting his hands in surrender as much as he could in that position. "Why don't we find an agreement? I'm sure that I can provide you with whatever you wish for. You… you lost someone, right? I'm a psych. I could try to… Ouch, woman!" he sighed in pain, as she made something very painful he wasn't even sure the nature of. The woman had probably studied abroad with the Holy Inquisition or the Mossad.

"I know you are just a con artist, just another fraud looking for eager marks." she whispered in his ear as she helped him to stand, still holding him at his back, one hand to his hands, the other in his hair. "So, sorry, mister. Your magic doesn't work with me." her breath was hot on his neck, and yet he shivered as she spoke, her words like honey running all over him, and collecting in his groin.

"Yeah, I know." he whispered, half-closed eyes, his voice a husky whisper. "Not everyone is able to resist hypnosis- especially when I'm the one hypnotizing them."

"Well, good then, because apparently I'll be the one looking after you, mister Jane." She said, as she threw him in the closest bedroom, launching him on the bed when she freed him so he could get dressed, never stopping to look at him as he put on his expensive clothes, her hand always on her purse, ready to take her gun as soon as he would have showed signs of not wanting to help her out. "I'm SACPD Detective Teresa Lisbon, and I'm investigating the murder of Angela Ruskin-McAllister."

The breath died in his throat, and the smirk vanished from his face. She thought it was because she had talked about Angela, but she was wrong. Only, she didn't know it yet- and she wouldn't for still a long time to come.


	4. Chapter 4

If I haven't thanked you before, dear readers and reviewers: thanks a lot!

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Lisbon pushed the grinning man into her car, all the while blushing like she was a virgin bride. She allowed him to put his belt on before handcuffing his wrists together in front of him.

"Ehy! There's no need to be rude! I'm a delicate man!" he complained, pouting like he was a spoiled brat. Which, Lisbon guessed, could exactly be what he had turned out to be. She could almost imagine him. Maybe he didn't get a lot as a child, with just a father who used him around (she knew the feeling quite well), but with that look she guessed he could have everything he wished for. He was a con-artist, a manipulator, a liar and a cheater, and everything he was he owed to his good look as well. How many times as a kid he had had to just make puppy eyes to some old lady to get an apple pie all for himself? And clothes, and books and girls and who knew what else.

"Oh, I'm so sorry mister Jane. I know your face is your job, so I'll do my best to avoid ruining your merchandising." She sarcastically said, grunting behind her dark sunglasses as she entered in the heavy midday Sacramento traffic.

"Jeez, no need to be so snappy just because I got you horny, _Detective_ _Lisbon_." He purred her name licking his lips slightly, more intrigued than really excited; Teresa groaned and the retort died in her throat – why bother, after all? – but she gasped when, at her side, Jane put his feet on the console of the car, his hands crossed behind his head.

"What the…" she asked, getting redder and redder with rage. That man! How dared he… she took a big breath and willed herself to _not _take her gun and kill him on the spot with some ridicule excuse, just because he was exasperating and damn right in reading her sexual responses to his advances. So, he was a good-looking man, all right? And she was a hot-blooded female who happened to like men. _Of course _she knew he was sexy. And yeah, she was pretty sure her dreams were going to get pretty XXX Rated if she didn't do something to wear herself out before going to bed- like going to bed not alone. And obviously, not with Jane, whatever the man seemed to think in that thick skull of his.

"So, agent Lisbon, out of curiosity, how far are we from your precinct?" She didn't answer, didn't even bother to look in his general direction, as she worked the gear. But she could feel his eyes on her, his stare burning her skin. He wasn't going to ask her again, no, she was sure that Patrick Jane wasn't that kind of man. But she guessed he would have looked at her until she wouldn't relent and answer him already.

"Uhm. Downtown, eh? Major Crimes, I bet." He chuckled as he saw her opening and closing her mouth like she was a goldfish. He shook his head, amused. He liked to play. He had always been an hunter, and his marks his prey. They didn't even knew what was going on until it wasn't too late- _when_ they discovered it, period. He had been a master manipulator since a young age, so much he sometimes wondered if it wasn't written in his blood. As a kid, he had used his angelic look to get away with things and obtain what he wanted- a toy, a candy, a kiss on the cheek from the nicest girl on the playground- but with time, and his father's help, he had learned to master his abilities. He learnt things about his marks, and then allowed them to think it was magic, or, like in Teresa's case, that he was so damn good at cold-reading people.

"So, how far are we? Thirty, forty minutes from Downtown? I bet we could stop somewhere for a quickie and no one would ever find out." He smirked as she blushed furthermore, her breathing increased. He had been at her side for few minutes, but in Marie's bathroom they had been that close to touch each other. He had seen her reacting to his naked body, his proximity, and knew she wanted him. It was good. It was something he could use at his advantage. "Or maybe…" he sighed, than shook his head. "No, you'd never do that."

She looked quizzically at him with the corner of her eye.

"Well, as you didn't have any warrant, my educated guess is that no one knows you got me. So, we could get downtown and you could try to explain yourself, hoping that Marie wouldn't call and demand for your head on a silver platter- trust me, she is that kind of woman."

_I know, _she thought, a bit annoyed. She knew exactly what kind of woman Marie Jarrett was, thanks to Lisbon's frequentation of the sheets in Walter Mashburn's bed. Marie had married Walter when they were just nineteen and he had gotten his first million thanks to his start-up. He had believed it to be a bed of roses, just to find her in said bed with his best friend, Yuri, shortly before their six months anniversary. Marie had tried to put the blame on him, but Walt had seen through her lies, and while thinking that his obsession and getting richer and richer was to blame too, he left her. Marie had tried everything in her arsenal to get him the full blame in the divorce- which she did- and half of his empire, and Walt had been that stupid to fall for it. Marie was still ever-present in his words, in his home, she was a ghost who hunted his whole life, and Teresa had never allowed things to get more serious with him not because she didn't find Walt interesting or didn't like him, but because it didn't take a genius to understand he would have never been over his first wife.

"I'm willingly to give you whatever you want." He suddenly said, his voice low, serious, his left hand on her arm. She looked at the point where his fingers were burning her skin, and eyed suspiciously a tan-line on his ring finger. "Just let me be, Teresa." He rolled her name on the tip of his tongue, like it was exotic, a foreign language that made it all more erotic.

"What I want, Rick." She said, emeralds lost in sea green eyes, voice low and husky as the world stopped around them along with the traffic, as her breath was hot on his skin, igniting feelings he thought long gone, forgotten once and for all. "Is the USB stick Angela gave you, and the truth about what went down in room 416." She added resolute, smirking.

"I don't know what you are talking about." He said.

She smirked as she turned her car on, shaking her head. It was a lie, she could hear it in his tone. Maybe she wasn't as good as he was, but she was damn good at her own job; there was a reason she had made it to detective just few years after having left the academy, after all. "Well, I know you may not have it on you, _Rick…"_

He smirked, chuckling shamelessly with innuendo at her words. "Oh, don't you, Teresa?"

"… but McAllister's men think you have it, and when McAllister thinks something, he is usually right. So, now we'll go downtown, we'll have a nice chat and you'll tell me where I can find that damn USB, so that I could save your sorry ass from being killed by the Irish mob, bring justice to Angela's soul and the ones who had been wronged by McAllister in the past **_AND_**, if I'm right and in that USB there's what I think there is… I could bring down his whole crime empire, together with all the Sacramento cops on his paycheck." And maybe, just maybe, she could finally find her redemption- redemption for the blood running through her veins, and now for what she had done to Angela, too.

"If you bring me downtown I'm as good as dead, Teresa. Please. Let me go." He begged, and then paused. "Teresa… I know you felt the spark. I know you want me. Let me go… and I'll give you your heart's desire."

She didn't answer him. She just looked in front of her, mouth slightly open in disbelief as she shook her head. "I can't believe I've been just propositioned by a prostitute. _Me." God, and I thought it was bad when I worked vice undercover…_

"You just offended my male ego, detective." He pouted again. "I'd like to let you know I'm an escort, not a prostitute."

"Hate to break it to you, buster, but escort is just a nice, politically correct word for _prostitute_ you use in public while talking about sex-workers." She grunted in a very un-lady like manner.

"Oh, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa…" he chuckled again, his mega-watt grin enough to turn on the lights of Sacramento for at least an hour. "They don't pay to have sex with me. Actually, I don't ask them to pay me at all."

"Oh, I know. I've seen it all enough times. You _talk _them into giving you money, things, whatever you fancy whenever you fancy it, and you make sure they _think _it's their idea right from the start."

"Sometimes." He chuckled, hands behind his head again, looking at the world passing by from the window. "But they aren't always the idiotic primadonna kind. Sometimes they want to make someone jealous. Other times, they need someone who's willingly to listen to them, to accept them despite their faults, and their problems. Having sex with them, it may be their desire, but ultimately, it's my own decision." He paused again, and turned to face her. He could see Teresa was deep in thoughts, and he guessed she was thinking about her dear Angela, and what kind of relationship she had had with him. Even if Teresa wasn't aware yet, he knew her secret, and he knew of her relationship with Angela. Teresa _knew_ the beloved woman, she had been like a daughter to the Ruskin woman. So, she knew Angela hadn't been with him because she was in need of attention or trying to make her husband jealous. But was she aware of the real reason she had spent to much time with him? And why he had helped her out? He doubted it, but being honest with the sweet cop wasn't going to do any good to him right now. If he wanted to get out of troubles alive, he better try another angle.

"Money makes the world turn, Teresa, don't you think?"

"Good. So, now not only I've been propositioned by a prostitute, but I've been propositioned _and _attempted to be bribed by a _control freak _prostitute."

"Ehy!"

She simply glared at him as he spoke again, feeling insulted by her opinion of him. He wasn't a control freak (differently from her), he simply had standards, was high-maintenance and enjoyed the beautiful things in life, and neither of those things meant that he was a) a prostitute, or b) a control freak.

"Shout up. Go to hell. Take a toothbrush." She said, and he grinned behind his teeth; Angela like to use the same sentence when he was too smug, too arrogant, when he behaved like he was the smartest in the room. He could see so much of Angie in Teresa, there was no doubt who had raised her; not for how similar their features where- except for the hair- but their whole demeanor. Especially towards _him: _the first time they met, Angie had behaved just like Teresa did, intrigued by him, and yet repulsed by his self-centered behavior.

But like he did with Angela… he was going to win her. Only, this time he didn't have days, nor months at his disposal, but minutes, and seduction and money hadn't worked so far.

"Listen…" he tried again, but she simply lifted her right index right before his eyes, indicating that whatever discussion he was planning was already over; he lifted his hands on mock surrender, and sighed, as he understood that his plan was already screwed. Not that there had been already a plan: he liked to improvise, going with the wind, as they said.

He stood in silence for the rest of the car ride, trying to think of how he was supposed to escape from that situation. Because if he didn't… he would be dead as soon as he entered downtown.

"There's no way you are going to let me go, right?" she smiled, and shook her head, and he could almost see her eyes shining and mischievous behind the big, dark sunglasses. "Yeah, I guessed as much. Listen, I was thinking…"

"Shut up or you'll discover how my right hook feels like." He gulped down a mouthful of saliva as he understood she meant business, and stood in silence, his brain filled with ideas and images and plans, one crazier and more desperate than the other.

He was lost, whatever was going to happen. For Patrick Jane, it was the end, and despite knowing it… there was nothing he could do to stop it.

|/\|/\|/\|/\|

They entered in the Major Crimes bullpen, Jane in handcuffs, and for once he didn't protest; Lisbon had hit him once on their way upstairs, and he could say she hadn't used all her strength. But it had been quite painful- as he had told her – and he was pretty sure he was going to spot some interesting bruises in the next few days. Well, at least the ladies were always into helping out an injured knight in white armor. All he had to do was voiding saying _how _he had gotten the bruises. Of course, that _if _he was going to escape Detective Lisbon's grip. And McAllister's vengeance.

"Ehy T, what did the poor bastard did?" A tall dark-haired guy asked, grinning, as Teresa pushed him down on the chair before her desk. Tall, dark, handsome, dangerous biker (those _so_ were biker shoes) approached Lisbon's desk, keep his arms crossed as he looked down at Jane like he was an idiot.

God. Why couldn't detectives be like in those cool TV-shows where they were sexy and smart? In reality, the men were all donuts-addicted with a small brain. The only person with some form of intellect in the room seemed Lisbon. Well, Lisbon _and _the Asian guy who looked at him from his desk, without batting an eye. _That _seemed a smart man- and one he could enjoy playing poker with.

"This, Rigsby, is Patrick Jane…" _Ah. The infamous Wayne Rigsby. _Jane hadn't heard about Rigsby father more than once- the man wasn't well-known as he had liked to think when he was still alive- but his son was often present in Angela's stories. In particular, she had said a couple of times about how Reese was supposed to stop sleeping with him already and find a nice man to get married to. Now, he got what she had meant: it wasn't like he wasn't good looking- if he and Teresa would have produced daughters, they would have been HOT –but he wasn't the smartest man alive either, and he could understand why Angela wanted something better for Teresa. Angie had never told him all the particulars, only that she had to pay a price so that Teresa could be free. And whatever the price was, whatever Angie had been forced to renounce to, it was right to think that she would have wanted the best for Teresa, that her sacrifice would be worth it in the end.

"And, how did you say you found him again?" Rigsby asked, smirking, his eyes falling in the valley between her breasts, showed by the low-cut top of her dress. Jane rolled his eyes. He liked women, and yeah, all right, Teresa was sexy (especially with that little number) but at least he had class and he didn't behave like a Neanderthal in heat.

"I didn't." She said, and took from her purse a small recorder, showing it to him with a proud smile, knowing where she wanted to go. Jane sighed. Of course Lisbon was smart enough to record their whole conversation, including the salient points where he asked her if sex or money could interest her in exchange for his liberty.

"You can't use them. You didn't mirandize me. It's unconstitutional." She said as she threw the recorder to the Asian guy, who took it like he hadn't done anything else for his entire life. Jane lifted quizzically an eyebrow, and wondered how long the man and Lisbon had worked together to be so… in tune with each other.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say, right?" she looked at him, and paused, her eyes smirking as she took a pen and played with it. "If we didn't lie and manipulate, our cells would be empty."

"You wouldn't allow a DA to manipulate a jury to get me behind bars." He said, extremely full of himself, the arrogant smile ever present on his face. "You are too good for that. How it is that they call you? Saint Teresa, right?"

Teresa tightened the grip on her pen, so much she swore she felt the plastic cracking under her fingers. Gritting her teeth, she looked at him with emerald eyes on fire. She _hated _that nickname, hated why it had been first given to her, and the new meaning her co-workers had given to the two words; she wasn't her father's daughter, but she wasn't a goody-two-shoes either. There was a middle ground, but people had never seen it about her. With Teresa Lisbon, it had always been either black or white.

"Has anyone ever told you what a bastard you are?" he smirked, all proud of himself as she looked at him like all she wanted to do was killing him on the spot. Or was it pity he saw in her eyes? He wasn't sure. After all, the only person who had truly felt pity for him was Angela. And maybe… maybe _her. _But that was another life, one he didn't like thinking about.

"Yeah. Women especially. Normally before slapping me." he shuddered, like it was normal.

"Yeah, I wonder why." She simply said, rolling her eyes a little bit- an action that made Jane smile. The woman was damn adorable, and just couldn't accept it, so obsessed she was with being a though cop. She looked at him, and sighed like she couldn't believe what kind of man he was. But it wasn't the point. The point was that she didn't understand the other women, and why they did what they choose to do with him. She saw him like she did her friend with benefits Wayne, after sex, and like her ex, Walter, after the money, but it was much more than that, and much less at the same time. And… he wasn't going to waste air for this. she wouldn't understand anyway.

"Cho, bring him in interrogation two, let's see what our mister Jane has to tell us…" she said as she left her seat, walking in direction of the Captain's office. From his position, Jane could see her behind, and was impressed by how she walked on high heels, how her hips moved, enchanting the male population. He didn't resist whistling in appreciating, and got, as reward, a soundly slap on the back of his head by Rigsby.

"Ehy, you should be proud that people compliments the beauty of the woman you usually sleep with!" he said, quite at loud. Rigsby, in answer, turned on his heels and stormed out of the room (looking for food, probably. He seemed that kind of man) while the pretty redhead in the corner (nice too, but too shy. He liked them with the fire in their veins, when they weren't paying) blushed, and lowered her head, like she was ashamed or… _Ah, interesting. She has the hots for tall, dark, handsome and dangerous, _he realized with a smirk.

"Get up." The Asiatic man ("Cho") took him into the room, and forced Jane to sat, undoing the handcuffs. Cho simply stood, sitting before Jane, arms uncrossed. The con-man and seducer looked at his "opponent", grinning; Lisbon thought Cho was the best option, as he seemed to be the interrogation expert of the team. But if they thought he was like some b rated movie villain, ready to spill his guts and reveal his greatest plan as soon as the good guys fell into silence.

Over half an hour later, Lisbon joined them in the room, and sat before him, dressed like any good cop would; Jane barely resisted the urge of sighing and shaking his head at the sight of the conservative blouse, of the black pants and the tied hair. If she could have been less feminine, do as the mythical Amazons and cut her breast to act more like a man, he was sure Teresa Lisbon would have done that. Didn't mind him, he kind of understood why emasculating herself in a male-dominated environment, but it was such a waste: Teresa was a beautiful woman, and any man would have seen that- hell, he wasn't oblivious to her just because she didn't' have money- even if she did her best to hide herself away, concealing her true self behind a mask of professionalism. But who was he to judge? After all, he didn't know anyone who didn't wear masks, nowadays.

"So, how are we going, Mister Jane?" she asked.

"Hasn't said a word." Was Cho's cryptic answer.

"I want a lawyer." He said, looking at Lisbon. He wasn't an idiot- he knew she liked him, and he was willingly to use his charm on her if it could mean getting away with whatever they had on him.

"We aren't arresting you yet, Mister Jane, but you are a person of interest in our case, and if you don't help us…" she made a movement with her hands, trying to make him understand what was going to happen if he didn't collaborate, and that she meant business.

"I don't care. I'm not helping you because I don't have anything you may be interested in, and I know nothing, all right?" he said, panicking a little, leaning on the table toward Teresa. He wanted to leave that damn precinct, he wanted to take his car- _any_ car- and leave California altogether, start anew somewhere else where nobody knew him and where McAllister didn't held any power nor connection.

"I know you have the USB Pen-drive, Jane. Give it to me, and I'll talk the DA in cutting a deal with you, drop any charge." She whispered, her voice luscious and husky, sexy as a peacock's feather, as their eyes met. He gulped down a mouthful of saliva, and he wondered if ti was possible for Teresa Lisbon hypnotizing him, because that was exactly how he felt in that instant.

God. Was it possible to want someone that much, and hating her with all of himself at the same time?

"I don't know what you are talking about, detective." he said, trying to maintain some kind of composure, of control over his emotions and his features. He couldn't smirk, or she would have seen the arrogance, and understood that he was hiding something from her. She already had some doubts, he couldn't add to them.

"You were in the room, Jane, if we wanted, we could held you on account of murder in the first degree."

But he shook his head. "I had sex with Angela, so what? It doesn't prove anything. You said it yourself, after all: _I'm a gigolo, just a gigolo…" _he sing-sang, quoting the old song.

"Yep" Teresa answered him, crossing her arms. "And we got your seminal liquid, and… what else? Right. There's skin underneath Angela's fingernails, and I think that CSU will discover it to be a match to the sperm. I also wonder if it will be a match to something else- say, the scratch marks I'm sure we'll find on your back, were you to undress for us."

"You are…"

"A bastard? Yeah, been there, done that. Few hundred times, actually. Normally before putting people behind bars and throwing the key away. So, anyway, where were we? Of course, now I remember: where I tell you I have enough evidence to have you for murder. So, what do you…"

She stopped when someone knocked at the door, and before she could tell them it was all right to come over, a tall thirty something guy joined them in the room, dressed in uniform. Jane stilled immediately, the breath dead in his throat as he understood that something was very off about him; before Lisbon could say anything, they all saw him going for his gun at his hip.

"Agent Hardy? What's going on?" she asked him, standing, and walking slowly in his direction, like to not startle him. He didn't answer, just shook his head as she saw his hand reaching for gun. "Hardy, please…" she begged, hands lifted in surrender.

_"Tyger, Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?" _He simply said, quoting what Jane knew to be a Blake poem. He looked around, like searching for confirmation, but when both Lisbon and Cho didn't give any sign of understanding him, sighing, he lifted his gun, and pointed it in the direction of Jane's head.

"Please, I think we could reach an agreement and.." Jane begged, lifting his hands as well. Hardy, worried for him and with him didn't noticed Lisbon, lowering her hands and going for her gun, moving stealthy at the cop's back, shaking her head as to tell Jane to keep it quiet and just distract him.

But Hardy just shook his head, his hand ready at the trigger as he started to cry, like he was sorry for what was happening. "Red John says hi." He said, and as soon as did so, gunshots reverberated into the room, and everything went dark for Patrick Jane.

Somehow, he had always knew he would have never left that building alive.


	5. Chapter 5

"Any news?" Lisbon asked as she paced her room, arms crossed, her boss, Captain Minelli, sitting on her couch in her living room, shaking his head, hand on his knees. Teresa had known the man for the better part of a decade, and in a way he was like a father to her. And like her real father, he fought the same demons. For so long, Virgil Minelli had managed to keep them at bay, but looking at him, knowing what had gone on in the last few days, she could see the dark desire in his eyes. He was losing his will to fight, and was probably begging, in some twisted part of his soul, for a drink. Just one. and then two, three… same old song of her life.

"You all right?" she asked, sitting at his side and putting a hand on his knee, reassuring him of her presence. It was the question she had never made to her father, and she hoped that saying the words now would mean something. Change everything- at least for this man. _I couldn't save dad, but maybe I can help Virgil._

"Have you already been told that she is dead, too?"

Teresa nodded. "Yeah, Cho phoned me early this morning. They think it's poisoning?" she asked, a little surprised, like she couldn't believe what was going on. It was… too much, too strange, like a B-rated spy story set in the Cold War.

"I can't believe there's people who really hides poison in an empty teeth." Minelli snickered, more to himself. Then, he shook his head, and turned to face Teresa, serious and worried. "Lisbon, this is crazy, but you heard what Hardy said. _Red John says hi. _We know it's him…"

But Lisbon shook her head, helpless. "We may know that Red John sent Hardy, but there's no evidence linking Red John to McAllister, or McAllister to Hardy, and you know it. Without any kind of evidence, or a living witness, we are back at square one. We both know we'll never be able to prove anything with just circumstantial evidence."

"We need to the USB Stick. If what it's rumored to be there is real…" he said, standing and pacing the room as well, gesticulating nervously. Sometimes, Teresa wondered if it was just in his nature – he was a nervous man who survived on anti-acid, after all – or if what had been written on _Murder on the Orient Express _was true, and all Italians tended to move their hands a lot as they spoke. She had never paid too much attention to it: did it mean she was a bad cop?

"Yeah, well, sorry to tell you this, but I don't exactly see Jane collaborating in the near future…" she sighed as she looked in the general direction of her bedroom. "Sorry, I think I may have heard a moan…"

She excused herself, and grabbing a cup of her favorite tea- she preferred coffee, unless she was stressed and in dire need of calming down, such as right now- she went in her bedroom. With a small smile, and half a grimace, she sat on the soft mattress, and gently caressed the fluffy hair of the man still half-asleep.

"I must be dead. " he said as he started to came around, smiling bright as nothing had happened at all. "for this is sure the afterlife. Well, guess I'll have to change my mind, after all. There's something after we die." He chuckled, arrogant and smart-ass as always. After she shooting she had pitied the man, despite their rough beginning, but now that he was awake again, all he had needed were few word to unnerve her, and to become a pain in her ass.

_Idiot. _She thought as he hissed in pain as he tried to seat. "Ehy, Steiner, come over!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, and soon a fifty-something, semi-bald man entered the room, way too happy for someone who was dealing with someone who had been shot at.

"Well, well, well, our patient finally returned to the land of the living. Gotta say, Lisbon, I'll never be able to express my undying gratitude to you. I think it's been, oh, fifteen years since I last dealt with a still breathing human being. Well, with the exception of that guy who bled on my table while I was cutting him open and…" the ME's eyes fell on the man right before him, tight as a cord, eyes wide open in shock. "But… that's a story for another time. And anyway," the MED continued, patting the man on the cheek like he was a baby. "he wasn't as sexy as hell as you are, handsome."

"I stand to be corrected. This isn't paradise. That's what your people calls hell, right?"

"Well, you'd probably deserve hell anyway, but…" Teresa sighed, amused, and shook her head. He turned to look at her, and saw something he hadn't seen before. Her eyes, there was still that amazing fire, but added to that, something else…. Amusement? He wasn't sure, but the realization that he couldn't stop staring at her, desiring to see that light again, that smile that made her whole features shine, made him gulp in fear. That wasn't his life, he had sworn a long time before he was done with love and affection and all that jazz. "Why sending you to hell, when I can look at you, Jane, getting a taste of your own medicine with Doc eying you like a piece of meat?"

"Don't insult me, Lisbon. I've always made sure to make women feel better. About themselves, and what they had with me. I've never put my needs before their owns."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Doc, clean his wounds, and let's see if we can get back to business."

"You know Mister Jane, I could make you feel better too…" Doc said, his voice filled with innuendo, cleaning a wound on his right arm Jane hadn't even noticed until that very moment.

"Uhm… sorry but… I kind of play for the other team, you know?" Jane answered, slightly embarrassed. One thing was turning on his charm with women, but when it was other people trying to flirt with him, initiating the whole thing, it was always harder. And even more so when he wasn't interested in the flirt at all.

"Oh, the lovely Detective Lisbon, I know." Doc rolled his eyes, huffing a little and ending it on a sigh. "Find a sexy man around here, and he'll have the hots for her. Not that I blame them, mind me, I'd try to do her too if I were straight, but, you know, I'm not, so…"

Jane thought about denying what Doc had just said, but he didn't see why bother. Besides, it was true; with the pale skin, the dark hair, the deep emerald eyes and the right curves in all the right places, Teresa Lisbon was hot. And he still was a male who liked women, so, yes, given the chance, he wouldn't have minded a go with her.

"Uhm. What happened exactly? Last thing I remember, a man you called hardy was pointing his gun at me…"

"I couldn't get Hardy before he fired at you, but at least he didn't hit any major organs. Doc said it's just a flesh wound- you'll get a scar that will attract all women, and no lasting damage."

"My shoulder doesn't think the same as you, Lisbon." Jane answered, pouting. He turned to look at what the doctor was doing, and found the man almost nuzzling his nose. In panic, he turned to face Lisbon yet again. "Is he talking?"

She shook her head, going to seat on the bed. "Hardy tried to fire again at us. I had to use lethal force to stop him before he killed us all."

They stood in silence, never breaking eye-contact, Jane looking at her like he was searching her very soul. _The eyes are the mirror of the soul, _she remembered. "What are you not telling me, Lisbon?" he asked, and as she opened her mouth, she remembered something the bellboy had told her: people felt compelled to give Jane whatever he wanted, just to make him happy, see him satisfied. "Someone else shoot too. One of my colleagues, Detective Bosco, got killed in the altercation."

"And that's why I'm here? In your bedroom instead than in an hospital?" Teresa waited for Doc to finish cleaning up Jane's wound, then, as soon as he left the room, she got closer and closer, until she was whispering the words to him alone, and no one else could overhear their conversation.

She nodded at his previous statement. "After we put down Hardy, we heard other gunshots, coming from the bullpen. It was a woman -her name was Rebecca Anderson. She worked with us, as a secretary. We think it was a contingence plan, in case something went wrong with Hardy." She paused. "Rigsby had been able to disarm her, but… it was all for nothing."

Jane nodded, her fingers on his arm a burning sensation of pure desire and ecstasy that run through his whole body, his lips a tight line of worry as he registered the past tense and the words she had chosen; so, apparently, their two leads to Red John were gone cold for now, as cold as their dead bodies, and only one remained. _Him. _

"You don't have to share details of the investigation with me." he simply said, looking at her fingers on his skin. He desired to reach out, take her hands in his own and bring those exquisite small finger to his lips, and kiss them, and he didn't' even know why. Maybe it was because he felt like he already knew her, maybe it was because she was a beautiful woman, but he felt like there was more to it than mere physical desire. That, he had been always been able to control. Her… he wasn't sure what he could do about that.

_I want… need to. _It was what she almost said, but instead she shook her head, breaking the reverie she had fallen victim to as soon as she had gotten lost into his eyes. The air was charged with tension and energy, and she felt herself burning. That man was going to be her damnation, her downfall, and she wasn't sure if she actually cared at all. She had loved only once in her life, a young man called Greg who called things off with her because of her family, and she had desired, and had, many men in her thirty-one years, but none of them with the intensity she felt for Patrick Jane.

"SACP has been compromised. We don't know who we can trust."

"Thanks." he said, the word foreign on the tip of his tongue. She simply shook her head, like to say, you are welcome. "Now… what?"

Teresa took a big breath, and took away her hand from his skin. They both immediately missed the contact, and Jane, like on autopilot, reached out for her, but she joined her fingers on her knees, like to avoid temptation. "Red John thinks you know something about him, maybe you do, maybe you don't… it doesn't matter. What matters is the fact that he thinks you have something that belongs to him."

"I don't know anything about a USB pen." He said, and they both knew it to be a lie.

"I know you are lying, Jane, we all do. That's why Minelli wants me to look after you. The FBI is going to put you in protective custody in a safe house, and I'll accompany you, and I'll be your shadow until you'll not give up what you know."

"You can't put me in protective custody unless I want to. You can't take over my life!" he hissed between clenched teeth. The temptation was strong, and there was nothing he desired more than being in a secluded space with Teresa Lisbon for an uncertain period of time, just to see how long it would take him to seduce her, but that was too much. He had been a prisoner once as a kid, prisoner of a life he hadn't wanted and didn't like. He couldn't allow the same to happen again, now that he was an adult, that he had fought so hard to get back what he had been denied all along.

"The law says we can- the California Johnson act, to be more precise." She smirked and left the room, and leaned against the door as she reached him, her eyes teasing him, seductive in the half-light of the room. "Just watch me."

_Just watch me as I take over your life, _he almost heard, and knew it to be true. because Teresa Lisbon had already taken over his life.

And she didn't even know it yet.

|/\|/\|/\|/\|

With help from the FBI, they moved Jane to a secure location. It was a two-stories house in the suburb, with more or less nothing to do. Jane behaved more or less for the first four days, reading everything he could find and making Sudoku puzzles while sitting on the couch, ankles crossed. Then, though, he finished the books, and he decided that he couldn't play Sudoku all day long.

So, he started looking at the TV.

Unfortunately, there was nothing that could even remotely be of any interest to him; he simply switched channel all day long, with Lisbon sat at his side whenever he was awake, infuriating her; there wasn't a lot of channels, and sometimes Jane put on the fog channel, as she called it, just to make sure she got an headache. But what she hated the most, though, was when he looked at his favorite shows: documentaries; about animals, mostly about carnivorous ones.

They made her sick, and she hated being sick. It remembered her she was a woman, and whenever she did so, Jane did too, trying to turn on his charm as she was a mark, to avoid her persistent questioning about the USB Stick and Angela.

All questions he still refused to answer to: frankly, she was that close to call a judge and have him persecuted for obstruction, but not knowing who they were supposed to trust, how could she? All she could do was waiting, and hoping for the better.

"Can I walk a bit?" he asked on their sixth day of permanence in the secure building. Teresa simply shook her head. Jane couldn't leave, and even if he could, she would have never allowed him to, the risk that he would hypnotize someone to help him escape was too big, too real in her mind, especially after he had tried to do the same with her as soon as they had met.

"You want to have a walk, Jane? Fine with me." she said without looking at him, her eyes in the newspaper, and yet, from the energy radiated from his body she knew he was smirking, jumping at the chance of breathing some fresh air. "Tell me where the USB Stick is and I'll allow you to go where you want."

"I already told you that…"

She rolled her eyes and stood, going to the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee before he could even end the sentence. It wasn't like she didn't know what he would say, they would be the same things he had already repeated, again and again and again, always the same lies. She didn't care: she was going to push, push, and then push some more, and sooner or later Jane was going to give up. Complete isolation was bound to make him crazy, after all he was the truest definition of social animal with his life-style, and once she'd seen an opening, she would be there, ready to take her chance. She wasn't going to allow Red John to walk free just because he was a petulant and self-centered child.

"That you don't know anything about a USB Stick, yes, I know Jane, but I don't believe you." As she said the words, she heard the front door opening, and FBI Special agent O'Laughlin and his partner, Reede Smith, walked in. O'Laughlin joined her in the kitchen, while Smith stood in the living room, staring at Jane, strangely amused. Lisbon could feel the tension, like she could have been able to cut it with a knife, and her sixth sense told her that something was very wrong.

"Ehy guys, you all right?" she asked casually as she walked back to Jane, leaning against the back of the couch like she belonged there. Her left hand went to the gigolo's shoulder, and she patted it, hoping that her message would transpire. After all, she could see that Jane knew something was wrong, too, and all she needed in that moment was for him to do as she said and keep calm.

"_Tyger, Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?" _Smith quoted, looking all smug and arrogant outside the window. It seemed almost like he could see what was going on in the outside world, despite the blinds being closed.

_Oh, God. _Teresa thought as her hand went to the holster at her hip.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetie." O'Laughlin chuckled at her back, and she felt the cold metal of a gun against the back of her neck. Teresa breathed in and out as she lifted her hands in surrender, the FBI agent taking her gun away from her as he kept getting closer and closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, and it was like the tongue of a viper licking her skin, shivers of fear running all over her body as she understood that not only SACPD had been compromised, but the whole Justice system…

God. It was bigger than what they had always assumed, way bigger than that. And by asking for the FBI's help… they had fallen into Red John's trap like they were children asking to be robbed of their candies.

"Craig… you are a good man… you're getting married to Grace in a few months…" she closed her eyes, seeing with her mind the well-known movements that would have signaled her end. _Secure. Trigger. Gunshot. Death. _Part of her didn't want to plea for her life, but the instinct of survival was too strong, fight or flight. And if she could fly right now, it would mean living another day, a day that she would have used to fight Red John.

"Sorry Teresa, these are the orders." He chuckled, playing with the barrel of the gun against her pale skin like a sadistic torturer. She wanted to live, wanted to escape, if not only to tell Grace to change her mind. _Fight for Wayne. He just thinks he is in love with me, but it's you he loves. Just, dump this psycho already, will you? _In front of them, Smith took a dagger from his jacket, and started to play with it, like it was his favorite toy, a magnet, like had fallen victim to a spell.

The FBI agent got closer and closer to Jane, but before he could do anything, the gigolo jumped from his spot, and tackled the bigger man to the ground, using his mass against him; as the two fought on the ground, she saw O'Laughlin hesitating, and took advantage of the situation by grabbing his wrist and twisting it; the fought for a short while, the charged gun between their bodies, until a shot didn't resonate in the room, and as she fell on the couch, Craig did the same, but on the floor, his mouth and eyes wide open, a tear of blood escaping his lips.

"Lisbon!" she heard, as she awoke from her shock to look at Jane, still struggling with Smith. The FBI agent still had the knife, and the crimson blade was indication that he had hit the target at least once.

Gasping for air, she joined the fight, grabbing the larger agent for the shoulders, and threw him on the ground. One heeled foot on his chest, she pointed O'Laughlin's gun at him, Jane retrieving the blade in the meanwhile. "You all right?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Smith. She didn't look at Jane, didn't see until later that he had been hurt again, this time in the chest, and that a blood stain was soaking the cloth of his white shirt.

"I'll survive." He sighed, getting from the kitchen some scotch-tape and Lisbon's handcuffs from the back of her jeans. As Teresa was still pointing the gun at the dirty cop, he cuffed him against the baluster, tying with the tape his hands, his legs and his mouth, as he had been a goat at Easter. "We need to leave." He said, taking the money from the jackets of the dirty cops, and their phones. He crashed them with his foot, and then rushed in the whole complex, trashing the landline as well.

"What? We can't! We need to call Minelli and…"

"You are the only one I trust, Lisbon." He said, grabbing her for a wrist. He took her phone and did the same he had done to the other two, and then, once outside, he walked directly to the car the FBI had used.

"You want to steal it?" Teresa asked, but he shook his head, and without saying more, he sabotaged it so that they couldn't be followed for a while. "What do you want to do, Jane?" She asked, her voice low as they looked around themselves, fearful of the impeding danger.

"We can only trust each other, Teresa." He said, as he took her hand in his own. "And if we want to have at least once chance… we have to run."

And that was exactly what they did.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks for the amazing response to this story, whatever you are a registered reviewer (and I hope I remembered answering you), anonymous or a follower. Thanks, thanks, thanks!

They walked for a short while after having left the secure home- it sounded almost ironic, and yet terribly scaring, in Teresa's mind - but when Jane saw a bust stop filled with people, he grabbed her for her wrist and walked her there; they got mixed with the many passengers, but left the vehicle after a couple of stops, and did the same again and again, for few hours.

It was night when they reached the terminal, but they didn't enter, thinking that Red John's men could have already been informed of their disappearance, for the first time in her life, Lisbon felt honestly scared. Right until that point, her name had been a leverage of some kind that kept her protected, but now, not any longer. Jane sensed her inner struggle, understood that, without her badge, she felt naked, vulnerable, and often took her hand in his own, squeezing it in reassurance.: when she got lost in his eyes, she could almost believe everything was going to be all right.

In the parking of the terminal, Jane checked for blind zones, where cameras couldn't take them, and once found the right spot, he studied the cars from afar, then, taking her hand and asking her to behave normally, he choose a Citroen DX, eggshell blue, and forced it smoothly, like he had never done anything else in his whole life.

"Don't you think they'll recognize it? I mean…" she tried to say, screaming at low voice, as he opened the passenger door from the inside. She looked around, making sure than no one was looking their way. She sighed, barely believing that she, the one who had always wanted to keep the law, fought so hard to become a cop, was stealing a car.

"It doesn't have a GPS tracking system, Lisbon. Plus, it's the easiest one here to force. Now, do you want to come with me and live, or do you prefer stay and see what Red John has in mind for you?"

When he put it that way, she didn't really have any choice, so, after a little debate with herself, she went in, and looked as his clever fingers worked their way into the ignition system, and like it was magic, turned on the engine.

"Nice." She said, smiling and smirking despite the dire situation they were finding themselves in. "Let me guess: that's not the first time you've done it."

"Meh, Lisbon." He said, sighing like the sound of the engines were music, the most marvelous tune in the universe, to his ears. "a magician never reveals his tricks."

"Oh, Jane, you are so modest." She mocked him, looking as they moved. Jane didn't go too quick, fearing that they would be pulled aside by cops, nor he drove too slowly, and in half an hour or so, Teresa found herself looking outside the window, at the Sacramento skyline disappearing in the distance. She sighed, her eyes glassy with unshed tears as she wondered what was going to be of her life, her whole existence: would she eventually be back to her apartment, her job? What was going to happen to her friends, her co-workers… to Wayne?

"You knew it was the only thing to do." Jane told her, keeping his eyes on the road. She didn't answer, there was no need to, after all. she knew he was right. but it didn't mean she liked admitting it- especially to him. Jane had been a thorn in her side since the first instant they met, she wasn't going to let him think things were any different, just because they were having this crazy… adventure together.

"So… now what?" she asked. Despite her name, she wasn't an expert in the breaking the law department, no matter what people said.

"I've got a plan." He said, but then he bit his lips, and made a sort of face she didn't like at all. "Sort of."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of it." she said. But then realized that it wasn't like she could do anything else.

"Can you just talk? I don't want to fall asleep." he suddenly asked her; she checked her watch, and saw that it was around two in the morning; it was a miracle that, with everything, he hadn't fallen asleep yet- he noticed that she wasn't saying everything, just opening her mouth again and again, like struggling to find a topic of conversation, so he rolled his eyes, and took matters in his own hands. "Seen any good movie lately?"

"Uhm… I don't really have time to go to the movies." She admitted, a bit ashamed. She felt like the not-so-good-looking girl no one asked out, while she was always simply too tired, sleepy to do anything different from sleeping (and maybe sex) at night.

"Ah. Uhm. Well then I guess we'll not initiate a discussion on _Transcendence_…" he sighed, mumbling between himself. "Ah. Uhm… sorry you had to leave your apartment after such a short time you've been here. I hope your landlord will be understanding and give it back to you when you'll return…"

The use of when didn't go unnoticed to Lisbon, who barely resisted crying. She was a strong woman, she didn't cry easily, but her whole life, her whole world was going to be destroyed, and she didn't know if she would find anything of what it used to be, if and when she'd be returned to her reality.

"I…" she said, clearing her voice and looking at him in a strange way. "I've been living there since I was 26. Why do you think I just moved there?"

He lifted his eyebrows. "So… you are leaving, then?" he asked.

She looked at him like suddenly a second head had appeared out of thin air. "No, actually, I had just signed a contract for other two years…. Why do you think I was between places?"

"Oh." He said, smiling smug and arrogant, without adding anything else; he was… shining, like he had just gotten all the answers he needed.

"What do you mean, with that _oh?"_ she demanded, her tone leaving nothing to his imagination. Lisbon, with those marvelous green eyes in flames, was a woman on a mission.

"Well, you'll admit that it's not so hard to understand what you may be feeling, as you've been living in the same apartment for five years and never unpacked your stuff…"

She grunted. "First, I only unpacked what was necessary, so I don't have all my stuff in boxes. And second, just out of curiosity, how do you know I'm 31?" He sent her a meaningful look. "Oh, God." she said, almost disgusted. "I can't believe Angela told you about me." _Between orgasms, _she mentally added.

"For the record, Lisbon, you don't look a day older than 25."

She smirked at his sassy remark. "You know flattery will not get you in my pants, right?" he didn't answer, just smiled with his mega-watt grin, and Teresa smiled at him in return, feeling a little better, light part of the weight that was on her shoulders had been lifted. "So… _Transcendence… _I'd never said you were a sci-fi kind of guy."

Jane smiled, and her heart lost a beat, her whole body filled with liquid fire. "Yeah, well… don't tell anyone, but I'm a die-hard Star Wars fan. The original trilogy, obviously. Don't let me start on what they have done with my beloved characters when they've made that awful thing that they dare to call a prequel."

She shook her head. "I bet you had a poster of Princess Leia in the metal bikini growing up." Then she bit her tongue, as she remembered that he hadn't had an home while growing up, only a trailer and a shitty father who used and abused him. "Jane, I'm…"

He shook his head. "That's ok, besides, consider us lucky for my shitty past; carnie friends can come in handy." He said as he entered in the parking of a semi-abandoned gas station with little to none traffic, somewhere along the coast. "But first… let's make it a little more difficult for people to recognize us. Go to the toilettes, I'll join you asap."

Strangely trusting him, she did as she was told, and entered in the bathroom labeled for the ladies. She closed herself inside, and started to pace the small room, taking big breaths and jumping at any sound coming from the outside, fearful for her life like she had never been, not even when criminals were pointing guns at her. Few minutes later Jane knocked at the door of the stall, calling her with her by her given name, and she allowed him in. She felt like hugging him, like for dear life, never letting it go, because for a short while she had been scared, and wondered: what if he left? What if Red John's men were going to find them? She kept in silence, though; after all, she had already learnt that there was no need for words with Patrick Jane, a look and he understood it all.

"Take off your shirt." He said, his voice low as he turned, holding his breath and shutting firmly his eyes, his fists closed as he tried his best to resist temptation; he could hear Teresa, taking big breaths every now and then, the rustling of fabric loud in the silence around them, heavy like a curse casted by an evil queen.

He took her long hair, middle-back, in his hands, and whispering "sorry" he cut them, a pixie hairdo just underneath her ears, then helped her to dye the silk locks in a red nuance; while he was waiting for rinsing her scalp, she did the same for him, applying the black carefully. She smiled a little as he moaned as she massaged his head, the curls as soft as silk under her fingers; they dried their heads underneath the jets of hot air of the dryer, Teresa's back against the cold wall as she watched in front of her, seeing and feeling only void and nothingness. Jane's hand found yet again her own, and she smiled, feeling that maybe, together, they could make it.

Maybe. That was how her life had turned out. In a huge maybe.

"So… now that I'm a redhead and you are a brunette… what are we going to do?" she asked, her voice as small as it used to be when she was a child asking for a mother who wasn't any longer, alone and lost in a world she didn't understand fully.

"We still need to change clothes. And…" his eyes fell on the valley between her breasts, burning a hole on her cross. Teresa understood immediately what he was asking of her, and shaking her head, she grabbed the relic like for dear life. She wasn't going to get rid of it. it wasn't just something from her past: it was the only thing left of her maternal family. Woman had passed it, from mother to daughter, that was her legacy, from her mother and to her daughter… if she ever would have one.

"Wait, there's no need to get rid of it. I have a better idea. Just… give it to me." slowly, never stopping eye-contact, she gave the chain to Jane. the (former) gigolo took the pendant, and he tied it to a leather thread, knotting it around her right wrist as it was a bracelet; then, he took a small bag from his pants pockets, red and velvety, old-fashioned. He emptied the contents in his palm, producing three rings, two wedding bands and a solitary, that he put on the chain.

"Here." He said, tying the jewel around her neck, and putting the band on her left hand; he did the same with the other ring, and Teresa couldn't help but notice the look of pain and anguish as he slid the ring on her finger, as he put his one on; the jewel fitted perfectly the tan-line she had noticed when they had first met, evidence that it was where it used to belong.

_Who are you, Patrick Jane? _she wondered not for the first time. Only, this time it wasn't because she wanted to prove he was a liar and a con-artist, just a gigolo; she wanted to know it, because… because she really didn't know. Maybe it was because he was willingly to risk his life to save her, or maybe it was because those agonizing eyes told so much and so little at the same time. She wanted to cup his face, tell him everything was going to be all right, hug him, hide her head in his chest and cry, and cry, and cry… because at the end of the day, they were both just unfortunate souls marked by their own families, and as she wanted to tell him everything, she wanted to hear him out too.

They got dressed with new clothes he had somehow provided- stolen or brought, she didn't want to know- and as she put on a floral, slightly hippy number, she looked at him putting her cut hair and the dyes in a shopping bag.

"We'll take it with us and get rid of it on the road." He explained as she silently nodded; few minutes later, they were walking along the road, the old Citroen left in the parking space at the gas station, Jane's hand never reaching her own. She moved her fingers, flexing them like she was missing something, and looked at his fists, his eyes low on the ground.

They walked like that for few hours, then, when he thought there was no one around, he got closer to the cliffs on the other side of the road, and threw the bag with their old belongings and the evidence of their new change in the Ocean. They heard a car approaching, and Teresa got closer and closer to him.

"What do we do now?" she asked, gulping down a mouthful of saliva.

"Now, we pretend to be a married couple who just got in a huge fight because we went to the coast with my vintage car despite you saying it was going to leave us stuck somewhere.." he said, grinning, as he pushed her away from him. As he saw the car approaching, he went into the middle of the deserted road, and signaled for the people on board to stop, all the while Teresa stood on the side of the road, arms crossed and an annoyed expression- but with Jane, it really wasn't that hard to fake annoyance.

The car stopped, and from the window, they saw the joyful face of a middle-aged man, bald and nice. "Ehy, something's wrong?" he asked.

"Yeah. Our car didn't start after we stopped at the gas station." Jane said, as he leaned against the hood of the car, looking at the man in the eyes. "Do you mind giving us a lift to the closest town? We haven't slept the whole night and there's no reception here…"

"Yeah, I know. it's because there are the mountains just at our back. Besides, it's not like there's so many people around." The man snorted as he signaled Jane with his head to enter. "Let me guess: wife's mad'"

"Yeah, well, the wife is mad," Teresa said as she entered in the car, closing the door in Jane's face. "I told the idiot that it was time to stop acting like a damn bachelor. But no, he loves his car, he says, just as much as he loves me. and I try to tell him that maybe we could at least rent something different, because, hello? I haven't taken a week off from the office in, like, years, but did he listen to me? Of course not! He always knows better, this one! And now my feet are hurting because of you!" she ended the sentence punching him in the shoulder as soon as he was sitting at her side in the backseat, then she offered her hand to the driver, sweet and charming like only she could be. "Ehy, I'm Charlie, the idiot's wife. For now."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm Rob. And the idiot is.." Rob said as he shook hands with Jane.

"I'm Alex, and really, thank you."

They made small-talk for half an hour, then they finally arrived in a small town, and Rob left them outside an hotel. They decided to rob another car, as there was a chance the police was looking at the train stations, and that they would sleep taking turns, driving in secondary roads and switching car every day or so. They had been doing so for the next four day, and they had left California already- they were in Arizona - giving them a small advantage on the authorities, when Lisbon dared to ask him if he actually had a plan at all or they were just running in circles.

"Yes, I do, but I need a phone first." She nodded, and after an amount of time she wasn't conscious of, he stopped before a bodega, and before she realized he was gone, he was back in the car, throwing the burner in the back, carelessly. They drove again for a few smiles, switched car again and drove again until the next town, just to abandon the last vehicle and walk for a short while, sunglasses on while they pretend to be tourists, a young couple like any other, sweet and young and in love, freshly married and carefree.

In few words: the opposite of what they were in reality.

They went into a mall, and while they were having lunch- steak and salad and coffee for her, hamburger and fries and tea for him, he dialed a number he seemed to know at heart between mouthful of foods.

After a short while, somewhere at the other end should have answered, for he gave their approximate position and said_ yes_ and _no_ a few times, before ending the call with an _all right_ and _thank you_. They finished their meals, sharing a sundae, and while they were leaving he threw away the phone, careful that no one saw him, his left hand never letting it go of Teresa's fingers.

They walked for a while, went through shop after shop, bought few things they needed - the minimum indispensable - with money Lisbon didn't know how Jane had found, feeling guilty as never before. She remembered being a young girl, not a child any longer but not a woman either, and finally understanding who she was, and what her family did for a living. The shame and guilt and pain was still with her, but with time it had lessened: now, it was back full force, and she wanted to scream and hate and hit him because he was dragging her back into her past, but she couldn't. Because, after all, he was doing it to save _her. _

"Ehy…" he simply said, stopping and turning to look at her. She couldn't meet his eyes, and she lacked the words. She wanted to ask him what they were doing, and if he really had a plan; and if he did, was this how he had lived as a child, a young man, when he was out of the radar?

He checked the watch, and then, smiling, he grabbed her hand, but she could see there was something behind his smile. He was hunted, thigh. He was scared and worried, she could see it, and the idea wasn't comforting her. Since she had left her home as young woman, until the day they escaped, she had always been the mistress of her own destiny, had never allowed anyone, anything to hurt her, to drive her around in this or that way. She had been Detective Teresa Lisbon, a boss and a woman in command. Now? Now she was Teresa, Charlie, Sandra and many more- she had never used the same name twice- and she didn't know what to do with her life any longer. Jane was the only connection with the woman she used to be, the only chance she had to discover what was going on. It wasn't a matter of wanting to trust him: she had to.

"Let's go." They reached the dark subterranean parking lot, and Jane watched around, never letting it go of her hand, no matter what. Then, he suddenly stopped, and he left out a breath they both didn't know he was holding as the lights turned on in a car semi-hidden.

"We're safe, Teresa." He said only, as he saw a big, huge man, just a little older then him, leaving the car. With spring in his step, Jane approached the man, and hugged him, dearly, like they were dear brothers who hadn't seen each other in a long time, like their lives depended on that hug alone- and she swore Jane was actually crying, that for the second time since they met his mask was falling, leaving room to the men underneath.

"Pete, this is Teresa." Jane said as Pete looked around, making sure no one was looking at them; when he did, he opened the trunk, and touched an hidden button, revealing a hidden compartment with enough space for the two of them. "Teresa, Pete and my old friends from the carnie will help us."

She simply nodded, even if many questions were filling her mind, _Is this how you escaped? How could you have lived like that? Are they really going to help us? _But she kept it quiet. Instead, she simply nodded, squeezing his hand as they entered in the secret compartment. She cuddled against his side as they traveled, went away, for she didn't know how long, and his breath on her neck lulled her to sleep.

She dreamt of his hands exploring her body, of kisses on her neck and lips, and of a baby girl with blonde curls running in their arms.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to anyone who keeps favoring and following me and the story; you guys are amazing! I should have answered to any registered users by now, if I didn't, I'm sorry, and remember you are always in my thoughts and I am ever grateful for your support.

The car suddenly stopped, and Lisbon, on autopilot, reached for her gun; after the last few days, and the two attempts on Jane's life – and her own, by extension- she didn't trust anything any longer; she was always wary and on edge, ready to answer. The first few days had been hell for her, when she didn't trust even her shadow any longer, and acted like a scared child, like a trembling little rabbit.

_Well, no more. _She thought. She didn't know how long they were going to be in that position, nor exactly what Jane's plan was, but she had all the intentions of getting her life back together. It wasn't just about her job, it was… everything. She had craved normalcy her whole life, and right when she had found her routine, someone had messed it up for her. She wondered if it was, deep, deep down, all her fault. If she had done as she had been asked as a young woman, Angela would have never stepped in, she would have never gotten killed, and right now she wouldn't be hiding in a car with a gigolo by the name of Patrick Jane.

When she heard steps coming closer, part of her wanted to get closer to Jane, that irrational part that had always been attracted to him, since the moment she had seen a picture of him, but Teresa Lisbon knew better: she wasn't a frightened doll any longer; so, when the trunk was opened and she found herself still embraced by darkness, her instincts kicked in, and she jumped on the mysterious figure, tackling him on the ground.

""Ehy, ehy, calm down, calm down, that's me!" The man underneath her begged, a little scared; Teresa, still looking cautiously at him, stood up, without even bothering to say sorry, and then turned around. In front of her, there was a smirking Jane, and around them, the nothing- and darkness.

Without blinking, she punched him in the nose, hard, with such a strength he fell on the ground, hiding with his hand the poor nose. "What the hell, woman! I told you that I work with this face!" he complained as he stood up, Lisbon still looking at him with her lifted right first, still clearly mad.

"Just, out of curiosity, Jane: is that your brilliant plan? Getting us stranded in the middle of nowhere, uh?" he demanded, slapping him in the back of the head for good measure. Then, she turned to Pete, who was still on the ground, looking at her like he was seeing some miraculous event for the very first time. "What? Yes, I can beat men twice my size, and by the way: if you want to blame someone, blame him."

"Ehy, I'm trying to save your life here!" Jane tried to say, but the words didn't leave his mouth that way because of the pain and the muffled effect of his hand. Teresa clenched her fists as she paced the small distance between the point where she stood and the back of the car, feeling rage and pain rising in her whole being, panic filling her like the desire of just crying and stop pretending being strong and invulnerable.

"Two people leaving the car will be less suspicious than a couple leaving the trunk of my car." Pete massaged his neck, all the while looking at Jane, amused. _This one will keep him grounded. And entertained. She is just the kind of woman Paddy need. _"We should be there in ten minutes. You'll use my niece's trailer- she left with her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago, the girl."

She sat in the back, crossing her arms, while Jane stood in the front, massaging his injured nose theatrically, not even bothering to put on his seatbelt- just like Pete, who didn't seem to care about speed limits, too. Teresa rolled her eyes, not at all moved by Jane's attempt at gathering her sympathy. "So, what's the story? We are newly leads escaped with the circus out of boredom? Just out of curiosity, in case people would ask."

Pete chuckled, and at his side Jane did the same, too. "The trick of a good con and of a good lie, Teresa, as you well known, is sticking as close as possible with the truth. Like when you came looking for me at Marie's, pretending to be sleeping with Walt, a well-known womanizer." Teresa turned red, and Jane saw the delectable show in the review mirror, and barely resisted chuckling, knowing that she was thinking about the day she had seen him naked in the shower, how she had put him on the ground, straddling him. He wondered what she had thought seeing, and feeling, his hard desire: he was a man, and she was a beautiful woman who had been half-naked on top of him, after all, and his body had reacted accordingly.

"Our friends know what's going on with Paddy. Carnie folks look after each other, sweetie, no matter what." Pete started, and Teresa wondered if, back in the day, they had done something similar for a young Patrick, who wanted nothing but escape from his father and a life that, despite being the dream of every teenager, was doing nothing but trapping him.

"It'll be all right, Teresa." Jane said, half turning, skimming with a finger the jeans-clad skin of her knee. She took a big breath and looked away at his touch, the memory of the day she had "arrested" him still too vivid in her mind, the desire too intense. She wondered if he knew, but after all, from what she had seen and heard, how could he not? Besides, he knew he was a good-looking man- just plain hot and sexy. _And maybe,_ _liking him runs in the family. _"They know me, but maybe we should leave out that you are a cop. Let's stick with story of the lovers of the run."

"That's not answering my question, Jane." she said, doing her best at being stern, but with his hand still on her knees, burning her with a mere touch, remaining insensible, or at least partial, to his charm and his tricks was proving difficult.

"When I was in trouble, I used another alias, Sean Barlow. I think it's time to bring him back from the dead, don't you, Pete?"

Pete, still driving, chuckled, amused. "You sweetheart here looks like a Charlotte. A dame from the south, tamed by society, but a rebel at heart whose heart got stolen by the mysterious stranger."

"You know." Teresa smiled sarcastically, putting herself in the space between the two front seats. "I know that there's an insult there somewhere, and in your shoes, I'd be careful with what I may or may not say. after all, a good-place kick can even make a man sterile, you know?"

"Geez, Lisbon, we were just trying to make a compliment." Jane rolled his eyes, although he was still using that irritating know-it-better tone of his.

"You want a veritable story? I'll give you one: I was at a party with my boyfriend…" she paused, thinking about what she could say or not say. She knew that the success of a lie stood in the middle way, in giving away enough particulars, especially in case someone started asking questions, but not too much. "…Raymond, when you approached me. Long story short. I cheated on him with you, and he is quite violent and vengeful- as my many scars can testify – so we escaped together, and we here hiding until we'll not be sure that he has stopped looking for us."

Jane looked at her, a little offended and wounded. "You know, I still prefer when I'm the knight in shining armor saving you from a painful and self-destructive relationship."

"You told me that this people know him, right?" she asked, looking at Pete, who nodded in affirmation as he glanced at her. "Than this explains why you can't be a knight in shining armor, Jane. people who barely knows you can't believe it, let alone people who's been knowing you their whole life."

"You wound me, Lisbon, really. I can't believe that with everything I'm doing for you, you would still have such a low opinion of poor old me."

"Jane, you realized that you tried to get me to sleep with you even before leaving Marie's apartment, right?" she said, and then, she hit him in the chest with her closed fist, hoping that it would hurt and leave a bruise or two. "Besides, if you had collaborated right from the start, we wouldn't be in that mess!"

"That may work." Pete said, moving pointing at the two of them. "keep that rage. After all, he seduced you, and now your boyfriend is after you because of him, and you've lost everything you held dear."

"Sounds almost true, don't you think, Jane?" she sarcastically asked, hitting him again in the chest.

He rolled his eyes, as Pete chuckled, laughing behind his teeth. "Tomorrow I'll introduce you around, and give you things to do on the ground, Sam was thinking maintenance works, this way you'll not get too much in contact with the public, and it will decries the chances of you being spotted by someone who may know your real identities."

Teresa just nodded, sighing as she saw the fairy ground appear in the distance, metallic trailers shining underneath artificial lights, no living soul around: this new chapter of her life was starting, and all she had to do was praying that she was indeed that good at working undercover.

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The following day, Teresa was introduced to everyone formally as Charlotte Jane, thanks to Pete's half, the petite, and yet strong, dark-skinned woman known as Samantha (Sam- she wasn't a girl after all). Sam wasn't Teresa's biggest fan, and yet she gave her the benefit of doubt, and yet, every time Lisbon did something wrong or simply not exactly how she was supposed to, she rolled her eyes and chuckled.

Time two weeks, though, the two women were closer; they weren't friends, but at least they tolerated quite a lot each other, and spent a lot of time together, mostly at night, when the men escaped in dark, smoky bars to play pool or poker (the last being Jane's specialty) just to return half-drunk the following morning, with a good hangover. Teresa kept herself occupied, especially during daylight, when she feed and cleaned the animals – Daisy the elephant had a soft spot for her- but at night it was really hard. She often couldn't sleep, partly because she could feel the presence of Jane inside the trailer, half-naked and just a breath away from her, and mostly because, at night, she couldn't help but think about everything she had lost in the last month, she was all alone with her thoughts in the bed, the now dark-haired man sleeping on a small couch in front of the table, and in those moments, when she looked outside and saw people living their life and having fun, she remembered who she had been, and how she, often, liked to go out with friends and coworkers, how Wayne would have dragged her away from McGinnis' and had sex with her in his car before they could even reach one of their apartments.

One night in particular proved to be quite difficult for her.

She had been turning for hours when Jane went to lie on the bed at her side, on the cover, facing the brunette. Teresa wondered if turning on her other side to avoid him, but she didn't want to look too childish, besides, Jane was trying to help her out, to be supportive. There were moments she couldn't stand him, but it was mostly because she was tired of living a life that wasn't her own- especially because they had been forced to do so because of a grave danger on their lives.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, playing with her ring. Teresa simply nodded, but then she took a big breath, shaking her head.

"I keep thinking" she started "when everything started to go so wrong, and… if it's not my fault."

He chuckled. "Lisbon, you may be bossy, but I'm sure you are a good person. None of this could be your fault."

"It is." She said, repeating the words so many times it sounded like her own personal mantra. "It's the butterfly effect, you know? Chain of events, seven degree of separations and all that stuff. If… if I had done what was asked of me… we wouldn't be in this situation." She sighed. "Trust me, Jane. If your life is screwed, it's my fault."

"Did you get drunk?" he suddenly asked, sniffing her, his nose practically touching her own, her breasts a breath from his skin. "Uhm, nope. Okay, so, why did you get so depressed?"

Teresa remained in silence, then she sat up in the bed, and Jane mirrored her movements. They didn't talk, Teresa playing with the cross at her wrist, and Jane respected her silence. He knew she wanted to talk, and that she needed to as well, but he wasn't going to push her; it was something she was supposed to do on her own volition.

Clad only with his pajama pants, he went into the kitchen, and retrieved two glasses from a cabinet, filling them with red wine. He offered one to Teresa, but neither of them drank it, Lisbon playing with it, her eyes searching for the void, while Jane was too busy looking at her with such an intensity it was almost painful. Days like those, it was hard resisting temptation, or try to deny the attraction that did nothing but increase day after day, the closer they got, the more scared they were.

"He goes by Ray." She simply told him, sipping a little her wine, feeling with just one sip drunk, slightly euphoric. Or maybe, it was the idea of finally being able to tell someone the whole story. "Thomas' son, Raymond. He has always gone by Ray. We were engaged to be married. Kind of."

Jane smiled, moving on his back, hands crossed behind his head. "How can you be kind of engaged to be married to someone, exactly?" he asked with amusement. Amusement that disappeared as soon as she covered her face with an hand, trying to not cry as the memories overcame her.

"The Ruskins used to be a powerful mob clan, a long time ago, but my grandfather died without a male heir, leaving only his two daughters- my mum and Aunt Angela; when he passed away, the power went to the eldest, my mother, but… she wasn't exactly well seen within the family, with wanting the family clean and marrying a middle-man like my father, but ehy, they were young and in love, so…" she grimaced a little. "When mum died and dad lost it, the clan was going through a lot, so it was decided that, in our best interest, we should have done like our ancestors, and look for an ally."

Jane turned again on his side, and stared at her in disbelief, lost in the sight of Teresa, sick and nauseated by the memories she was going through. Her hold on the glass was so strong her knuckles were turning white and her hand was trembling.

"Of course I knew Thomas- everybody did, back then. But when my father introduced me to him and his son at my sixteenth birthday…" she closed her eyes and took a big breath, trying to calm down her nerves and her crazy heart. "I remember Ray grabbing a feel at my ass through my dress, laughing at my face, semi-drunk, calling me a sweet, nice piece of ass, and I didn't even complain. Because I knew what my father would have done to me and my brothers if I did. Angela was the only one to know."

"Dad got killed few days after I had turned eighteen, I was supposed to get married in a few weeks, but with the excuse of the mourning, I could delay it a little longer, and I used that time to talk with Angie about how I didn't want to marry Ray, how I wanted to leave all of it behind, and just start afresh with the guys. And that's when she went to talk with McAllister and they came out with an alternative."

"Thomas had lost his wife the previous years, and he agreed to marry Angela if the boys and me left the clan once and for all, leaving the power to her." She closed her eyes and took a big breath, small tears on her face, a memory of her guilt. "I wanted out so I forced her to marry him, Jane. that's why it's my fault she is dead. If she hadn't been married with him, she would have never looked for you… and she would have never died and you would have never gotten involved with our families."

He took the glass from her hand, and left it on the floor, and then collected the tiny form of Teresa Lisbon in his arms, allowing her to hit his chest and cry on his shoulders, hiding in his chest, just like she saw fit. She sobbed for what felt hours in his arms, Jane never stopping to draw small circles on her back and kiss her hair.

"If you are guilty, then, I am too." He told her, when she had calmed down and he believed her to be asleep. "Because if Angela hadn't died, I would have never met you."

"Jane…" she whispered, looking at him in his eyes, gulping down a mouthful of saliva, her hands cupping his neck, her cheek against his naked torso. _Are you going to open up with me, too? Tell me about the woman who wore this ring before me? _

"You are a brave soul, Teresa… and any man should be grateful and honored to be your love and love you, for you are a light in the darkness." He got closer and closer, and when she saw his dilated pupils in the semi-darkness and felt his desire between their bodies, she knew where he wanted to go.

"I know that I am." He said, and his lips descended upon hers. She met him halfway, her eyes closed as she moaned and their tongues met, dancing around and with each other, until they didn't part, kissing more and more lazily every time they found each other again, their hands exploring each other through the fabric of clothes and linen, with hunger and desperation.

When Teresa finally fell asleep, Jane stood there in the bed with her, his heart clenching for what he was about to do. He cried in her hair, cursing his own name and his past, but knew that there was no other way. If he went through his plan until the very end, he would have been able to call himself a free man once again. And Teresa would have been able to get back to her life.

With her heart a little broken, but maybe free from the shadows of her past.

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After over a week of passionate kisses and satisfaction given and received through hands and mouths, Lisbon decided that she was having enough of that. She was a heterosexual woman, desiring an Adonis who wanted her back, and living under his same roof; so, she really didn't know what she was waiting for. Jane had told her that they were waiting for the dust to settle to decide how to move from there. She had tried to explain him that, were he to give her the USB stick, things would play out in their best interest, but he kept denying having it to begin with.

So, really, if she wanted to be less uncomfortable and have Jane doing what she wanted, the only thing to do was playing his own game, the one of seduction, and get him so addicted to the feel of her naked body around his that he would have done anything in his power to have her in his bed again and again and again. So, really, she was killing so many birds with one stone, she couldn't even count them.

She took a long shower, scenting her skin and her hair with a vanilla shower-gel (a fragrance that, on her, seemed to arouse him, make him desperate for her in a way he said he had never felt before, not honestly, not with so much feelings involved), and then looked for the sexiest pair of underwear she could find, dark green silk and lace. She looked at herself in the mirror, clad only in her underwear, her chosen clothes still on the bed, and blushing she finally realized, completely, that she was sexing herself up for _him. _The idea made herself feel more powerful, and made her exited, ignited nerves she thought she didn't have any longer. As she closed her eyes, one hand vanished in her panties, the other went to stimulate her nipples, and the desire only increased as she thought about Jane, Patrick, seeing the evidence of her desire for him as he would have undressed her in a short while.

She giggled as she pleasured herself, denying herself the oblivion of orgasm to leave the honor to her soon-to-be-lover, and with sex-filled hair she went to collect her clothes, the fabric of the blue warp-around dress like electricity as she covered her over-stimulated body.

Shaking her head in disbelief, but with a bright smile, she put on some high heels that would made her feel taller and underline her assets, and then went in direction of the wood structure where the men were playing poker.

"Hello everyone!" she said flirting as she was greeted by clapping hands and whistles of male appreciation. She looked at the table, but didn't see Patrick, so she joined Pete and put her hands around his shoulder, massaging his sore muscles. "Pete dear? Can you tell me where's my man, pretty please?" she added a pout for good measure, because men seemed to be goner for her when she pouted.

Pete didn't answer immediately, and from the way he was getting redder and redder, Teresa feared she had caused him a stroke, but when another one of the men told her "Sean" was in the back getting a drink for them, she shrugged, and didn't bat an eye as they kept complimenting her man for going to get lucky.

"Gotta tell you, Jane, your friends are having high expectations for this night of ours…" she giggle with an husky voice as she got at his back, her hands traveling the expanse of his chest. She felt for his desire, but found no evidence of it, and immediately parted. She looked at him, and found Jane sad and desperate, almost scared.

_H doesn't really want me, _she thought._ There's some other woman in his heart. Maybe his wife. Maybe Angela. But not me. _"I'm… sorry." She said, almost ashamed of herself, trying to hide as much as her skin on display as she could.

"Reese… no, no, wait…" he begged as he looked at her walking backward toward the door, her eyes glassy. He felt like a monster in that moment, thought about when she had talked about the day Ray McAllister had called her a _nice piece of ass_ when she was just a teenager, something that was still with her. she saw him just like she had done the young man, a man after one thing and one thing alone, and that yet couldn't see every facet of her.

"Teresa… I just… I wasn't expecting you here." He lied, and he wondered if she knew. She smiled a little, a little relieved, and allowed Jane to hug her and leave few kisses on her lips and her nose, when, suddenly, she smelled something.

_Smoke. _

"What the.." she said as she looked around, spotting a small fire in the corner of the kitchenette. "Jane, we need to leave…"

He took her hand in his own, and looking at the fire, his Adam apple dancing underneath the thin, tanned skin of his neck, they run outside, standing in front of the wooden shed as the people gathered there and looked at the structure, the flames getting higher and higher by the second.

"Pete? Pete? Pete!" They both turned, and saw Sam crying as she called for her husband, and without hesitation, without further question, Jane left Lisbon's hand and went back in, right into the fire despite her cries and her sobs. Teresa and Sam stood there, in complete silence, like they were dead, waiting for a sign, for anything. Few minutes later, their patience was compensated as Pete emerged from the imploding structure.

The same couldn't be said about Jane.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for the delay, but you'll get another chapter this week, so... cheer up! Also: big celebrations, as the show has been renowed for another season! And... sorry if I haven't answered your reviews yet. I'll do it asap, I swear!

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Hiding and escaping wasn't Lisbon's style, so, after what had happened to Jane, she resolved to do the only thing she was supposed to- maybe what she should have done right from the start- and asking Pete and Sam for a phone, she dialed the number she had gotten to remember at heart: Wayne's.

She held herself together as she gave him her position, all the while she thought about fabricating a plausible story to cover what had happened. She knew she couldn't get Red John involved yet, and yet she didn't want to tell her coworkers that Jane had took her away against her own will, forcing her to follow him around the South-West with a gun pointed at her side. Jane had saved her life: saving, even if just a little bit, his reputation, was up to her. Besides, hadn't he told her that sticking as close as possible to the truth was the best form of lie?

So, sniffing a little, she simply told him that she would have talked with him once he had gotten there, and then went to sit in a corner in Sam's trailer, hugging her knees like a child; she didn't cry, because she was a strong woman and because she had cried all her years a long time before, but Teresa felt a weight on her chest, a pressure that was crashing her whole being. It was like something had been ripped away from her, and a bloody wound was slowly getting infected, her own flesh rotting where her heart had used to be.

Wayne arrived over fifteen hours later along with Cho, and she was still sitting in the same corner in the same position, Sam in front of her, an hand often held high like to touch her, but never daring to caress the skin. Teresa had refused food or even just water, looking from the window as the firefighter turned off the flames. She had sobbed just for a few minutes, when a body _his body -_ had been taken away in a black bag she was all too familiar with. What she wasn't familiar with was how people died in fires: Wayne as the arson specialist in her unit, and she hoped that he wouldn't try to break the ice by telling her if Jane had suffered or not.

When a knock at the door came, Teresa didn't move, but hugging herself, Sam went to open the door, finding in front of herself a young man, she guessed the one Jane had called "Rigsby" in an couple of conversations; a cop, son of a wonnabe criminal, raised in the biker world, and Teresa's on again/off again lover. The black-skinned woman could understand why the young girl she now dared to call a friend had been attracted to him; Wayne Rigsby wasn't just good-looking, but there was something in his eyes, too, intensity, sweetness and danger mixed together in a nice-looking package.

And yet, she also immediately knew why Teresa would have never loved him with her whole heart.

It wasn't because of her feelings for Jane- although Sam guessed that there was more than lust and attraction between her friend and the cop- it was that Teresa had told her something, snippets of her past in drunken or casual conversations, that brought her to believe that damaged intensity wasn't what Teresa Lisbon needed- not in the measure that Wayne Rigsby would have provided. Teresa came from a dangerous world, and had a dangerous, suffering past at her back; Wayne wasn't right for her, for the mere fact that being at his side would have remembered her every moment of what she wanted to move past from, and vice versa: they were too similar to make it work outside of the job.

Jane, instead… Jane had given Teresa a reason to let it go, and be the person she wanted to be instead of the woman she was supposed to be because of the job or because of her family. They had both had their baggage, but there were enough differences to actually build something on it: they both a common foundation, because as troubles souls as they were, they both wanted to move past their legacies, and yet, as the damaged souls they were, they had common ground enough to understand that they weren't perfect- nor they could reach total perfection.

"Samantha Turner? I'm detective Wayne Rigsby, with…"

"Sam's fine." She cut him short with a wave of her hand, taking the few steps that divided her from the back of the trailer, where Teresa still was, still looking at the burned ground. "I think she may be in shock. She hadn't said a word after she had called you."

Rigsby nodded. He had guessed that something could have been wrong with her friend, but "Pete" had enlightened him a little bit; there were still few blind spots every here and there, as why Teresa was there with Patrick Jane to begin with, but the strong guy had told him that Lisbon and the gigolo had been there for few weeks, and that Jane had died the evening before saving his own life. Teresa hadn't said a word even since, saved from the quick phone call, and apart from that, she had always stared in the void in complete silence, like she wasn't even alive any longer.

"Reese?" he asked her as he put a hand on her shoulder, and Teresa finally turned, and Wayne's heart broke a little more, as his mind was suddenly filled with images of Teresa immediately after her mother's death, the shell of a human being, feeling like her life had come to an end in the blink of an eye.

"Reese… I spoke with the local department, and… they agreed to release you to me." she simply nodded, not even a syllable leaving her mouth as she stood and walked, leaning on her long-time friend as she took the few steps that separated her from his car. "We'll talk about it once in Sacramento, all right? Take your time."

She didn't even nod. Just looked outside the window as the car drove away, leaving this people she had gotten to consider friend behind, thinking that, with Jane gone, she would have never seen them ever again.

She didn't know how wrong she was- nor that her pain was going to end, sooner rather than later.

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As soon as she arrived in Sacramento, Minelli called her in his office, Internal affairs already there as well, much to the man's disdain. Teresa didn't saw too much into it; she wasn't fond of the unit, but she understood why they had to exist (_Who watch the watchmen, _was a line from a Graphic Novel she had read few years before) an accepted their presence there. Besides, J.J. LaRoche was a man of solid values, a long time before an homicide detective, who had taken the job only for the less hours and the minor danger, as he was an only child who had taken upon himself to watch over his old, sick mother. He was the kind of man she could trust, Teresa had long ago decided, and she knew she had done nothing wrong; for that reason, when asked if she wanted a lawyer or a representative from the Union, she had said no; in her mind, only the guilt ones asked for a lawyer, and she had nothing to hide.

LaRoche hadn't interrupted her, but had listened as she had talked with Minelli, explaining what had happened with Smith and O'Laughlin and the "safe-house", even if her Captain filled in few particulars she wasn't aware of yet; both men had been found dead on the scene, but preliminary examination showed that Smith had died few hours before O'Laughlin and from a different weapon. Minelli didn't say it, nor Teresa acknowledged the fact, but it was implied that someone had gotten there and cleaned house, in order to avoid any whistleblower. So, yes: no one was saying it out loud, but Red John had hit again, killing yet another dirty cop to avoid Justice.

Minelli sent her home, both he and LaRoche agreeing on calling her again, or paying her a visit, was necessity to arise, and she simply nodded. She was still wearing the same clothes she had put on for Jane, and she felt like a child in need of love and affection. There was a part of her who hated herself with all her being, for this was how her father had looked when he had lost her mother, frail and just the shell of a human being, void of any emotion. She had sworn back then to never love, and until that moment she had kept her promise. Her men were one night stands, or meaningless fucks done for the fun of it and for the pleasure they could give her. She had never allowed any of those men, not even Wayne, to get too close to her.

But with Jane, it had been different. She had been affected by his charm and good look, but then he had mesmerized her with his mind as well; he was smart and well-read, with a lot of interests, a quick mind that never failed to bring up any kind of random info about this or that; he also had a good heart he tried to keep hidden, behaving like he didn't care, but listening to her and comforting her with simple gestures and soothing words for her aching soul. Jane had given her what she wanted and needed before she could actually acknowledge it: he had helped her escape from Red John, but also from a life she wasn't so sure she still wanted to live.

And now, just when she had understood that she wanted to have that life with him, she had lost him.

She spent the next few days curled in her apartment, leaving her bed only for her ouch; she never opened the blinds, letting darkness engulf her, so that the outside could be just as she felt inside her very soul. She barely slept, barely drank water, and food was out of the question, and didn't answered the phone. She didn't feel like talking with anyone, and if her coworkers wanted to talk with her about the case, they knew where she was.

Wayne was the first one to go and see her on her third day of being back, claiming there had been some developments but that the ME hadn't released all the details yet, sharing with him only through a "confidential channel of communication",_(i.e. The ME was female and wanted to have sex with him despite the miles and miles that separated the two of them), _but Teresa knew that at first glance no one would have said so much about the details about Jane's autopsy.

"I think there's something wrong here." He told her as soon as she opened him the door, putting few sheets of paper on her dining table without even sitting, and indicating few details from the exams. He was looking at her with a mixture of plea and rage, like he didn't know if she was up to something with the man or she was a victim as well. "Teresa, tell me what's going on, and maybe I could help you."

Teresa lifted her eyes, and for the first time in days she felt like the fire she had worked on for so many years was suddenly back; staring at him like he was suddenly someone she didn't know any longer- and maybe had never known for real –she lifted her right hand, and slapped him on the face, once, hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"You." She said, her voice low but like a scream nevertheless. "How can you say that to _me?!"_

"Teresa…" he plead as he walked backward, her index pocking at his chest as she left it all out.

"How can you say something like that, after we've known each other for so long? How?"

"I don't know you any longer, that's how!" he screamed, his eyes filled with rage and possession. Teresa gasped, and hated herself as realization hit her. It wasn't that Wayne didn't know her nay longer, he just wanted her back, his friend, his lover, the woman who was willing to warm his bed up every now and then without any complications. But apparently _he _was the complication, because he seemed to have read too much in their friends with benefits deal, despite Lisbon having been always clear about what was going on between them.

"You were my best friend, Wayne." She told him, her words hissed between clenched teeth, Rigsby's heart breaking and exploding at her use of the past tense. "But if this is how you see me… I want you out."

Without saying another word, knowing that being out mean being thrown away from her whole life altogether, he angrily grabbed the details the ME had sent him, and stormed out her place without turning back. Teresa stood where she was, and only moved after few minutes, to peek through the window curtains and make sure he wasn't there any longer; Wayne was still there, inside his car, and was hitting the wheel, but after few minutes, he stopped, and shaking his head he drove away. Teresa took a breath of relief, and from a hidden compartment in her writing table she retrieved a burner Pete had gave her "just in case".

_If this isn't the case, I don't know when I'm supposed to call him, _she thought as her heart pounded in her chest, her whole being filled with hope and despair, what ifs and buts. Part of her wanted for it to be true, but the other side of her was scared of admitting where that truth would lead her. And yet… yet, she had to know. She had been thrown inside the game, and she wasn't going to back out, not now.

She took a big breath as soon as she heard the voice at the other side of the line. "I know what you did. Let's get together and tell me everything."

She hanged up, without waiting for a reply; he would have called, once made out his mind.

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She had just taken few steps when she saw a silhouette on the patio of the beautiful mansion, and careful of not being spotted nor heard, she crossed with long steps the distance dividing them. When she arrived at the top of the stairs, he was looking at the sunset, leaning against the balustrade, clad only in a towel, his body dripping water just like the first time they met. But yet, he was different: gone was the arrogant expression he had always spotted, and in its place, there was an aura of sadness and deepness she had rarely seen on his face, but had always known was there.

"Nice place you got yourself here, Mr. Boy Wonder…" Patrick turned, and almost chuckled, shaking his head as he walked in her direction, stopping when he was a couple of feet from her; Teresa wasn't supposed to be there, to know about his secrets, but apparently, he had underestimated Detective Lisbon's skills. Or maybe… just her passion, both for her work and for him.

"Did you know I thought you were dead?" She said at low voice, almost like she was talking with herself or couldn't believe it was really happening, closing the distance between them. They were just a breath apart, and she could smell the Wild musk fragrance that covered his whole body, could see drops of water glistening on his again blonde halo of hair.; he was bare-chested, and there was a part of her that longed to reach out for him, put her palm on his heart and feel for herself that he was there, alive, right before her eyes, for real. "You know, you should be more careful with the people you entrust your secrets with. Your friend Pete, for example, he is quite partial when a cop points a gun at his head." It wasn't really the truth, as Pete had told her everything as soon as he had seen her, saying that he had never agreed with Patrick's plan to begin with, and that he could see that she needed the truth; Jane, though, didn't need to know that; not yet, at least.

He just grinned, chuckling shamelessly while dilating his pupils. Getting lost in her emerald eyes. "You know Teresa, we should really stop meeting like this, people will talk…" she barely resisted the need the slap him across the face- a need he read very well on her features – and put some distance between them. She gave him her back, crossing her arms, holding herself. The last few days had been terrible, she had cried, she had done things she had never thought she would one day do over a man, and deep down he knew it. He had really seen her when Teresa had gotten closer; she was dehydrated, with deep dark circles under her eyes, and her clothes… they were the same, and yet just after few days they were bigger than last time he had seen her in them. She had lost weight and sleep, and all because of him.

He joined her side, and tried to reach for her, but Lisbon snapped, holding an hand in the air, like to slap him, but she didn't; it was merely a warning. "Don't, just… don't. I'm too mad with you right now, and I don't want to do anything I'll eventually regret…."

"Like kissing me senselessly?" he asked, teasing her, his voice hot in her ear; immediately, though, he turned serious again as he felt her tensing. "I'm sorry, Teresa, but I didn't know what to do. Almost getting murdered multiple times wasn't part of the plan."

_What plan is he talking about? _She wondered. Because apparently, Patrick Jane had always a plan. To escape the carnie, the sex-worker life, to escape Red John. And she had been that silly to think she had could have been part of that life, that maybe, just maybe, he could have changed. _For her._

"Yeah, while I guess it was indeed part of your master plan cuddling me to sleep while sweet-talking me into trusting and believing you when you claimed to actually feel something for me, and then, the next day, faking your own death with your friends Pete and Sammy, right? What did you want to accomplish? You hoped that if you could have made me fall for you I would have never looked into your death, even if the cadaver didn't match your height?" she paused, fuming, turning now towards him, but no words left her mouth. She had been too scared, and was too relieved, to just think… for words alone.

She walked towards the balcony, right before the beach, and she left the wind mess her short hair; Patrick immediately joined her, and stood at her side, in silence, even if he had to fight the desire to move the bangs away from her face to see once again those mesmerizing eyes he had fallen victim to and lean towards her to kiss the woman senseless. But he didn't, already feeling that Teresa wouldn't like it, would read it as another try at getting into her good graces.

"Whose house is this anyway?" she suddenly asked, a bit annoyed, when he didn't try to defend himself, preferring the silence, allowing his imposing presence to speak for him, the heat between them for what they both knew they felt.

"Mine" he simply answered, laughing when she rolled her eyes, obviously not believing him. "Really. It belonged to my wife. She left it to me when she died" He stunned her, and she felt the breath dying in her throat; yet again, there was something she didn't know about this man, something she wasn't sure she was ready to accept- that she could accept at all; yes, she had guessed from the way he had been watching at their rings that they had belonged to him once, but knowing it and accepting it rationally were two different things.

It was Jane who resumed speaking, sensing her uneasiness, how divided she felt, and, maybe, even betrayed. "I met Sophie when I was… 24, and she was a few years older than me. She come to me one evening while I was having a drink at the Soiree in Los Angeles , and told me straight to my face that she wanted someone to spend her last months with. She was… Angie remembered me a bit of her, you know? Didn't hold anything back, strong, brave, and beautiful. We spent six months together, and even if I knew that it wasn't part of the plan, I fell for her." He paused, looking at the sun, sad, looking older than his years. "Before I could understand it, I was a widower, and this was everything that was left of her. I didn't care about love or affection any longer after her, I didn't want to go through that ever again, so, I…. well, I think you know what I was doing for a living before meeting you, right?"

"Did you love her?" she suddenly asked, and Jane didn't even have to think about it, to ask her whom she was talking about- he already knew it, like he had always knew that it was a problem for Teresa, that it was painful and a reason for guilt knowing that she and Angela had shared the same man.

He got closer and closer to her, without breaking the contact, sea green eyes lost in grass green, and lowering herself towards Teresa, he fisted her hair into his hands, his breath hot as he whispered into her ears between butterfly kisses along her whole face. "I was fond of her, liked her even, but…" he didn't ended the confession, but took possession of her lips instead, in a slow, sensual and steady rhythm, and like the time before, Teresa didn't fight him, and helplessly surrounded to Jane.

He walked her backwards towards the bedroom, and still, she didn't fight him. She didn't fight him because her goal was the same as him- belonging together, becoming one, dancing the oldest dance of the world, the dance of life and love and passion.

She didn't want to lose time any longer; after all, who could say when she would have lost him, this time for real?

|/\|/\|/\|/\|

She was leaning against the balustrade, looking in the distance at the stormy sea in the early hours of the morning, with just his dress shirt on, wondering about how her life had turned out in the last few months.

Teresa didn't know how she was supposed to feel after what had happened few hours before; she felt, not for the first time in her life, divided. There were so many possibilities, and she didn't know what was wrong and what was right any longer…. she was happy because of the sensual night shared with Patrick, and yes, she felt like the feelings she had felt for him from the instant she had seen his pictures were slowly blossoming into something more, but she was also feeling guilty.

As a cop, she had been asked to protect him, a witness, and to check on him, a sort of wonnabe criminal; she knew she should have kept her distance, but she had soon realized she couldn't, as wrong as it was: after all, what did she know about his own feelings? He was a Machiavelli, a misleading and manipulative son of a bitch who took everything he wanted without asking first, without a care in the world, without giving a damn about the others. He had showed her that much just the night before, when she had tried to move away once in his bedroom, and he had grabbed her, forcing her to collide against his chest, and then kissing her, senseless, talking her into making love to her the whole night. On a soft bed between silky covers.

And besides, were they to escape or stay hidden, if someone was to discover that Jane was alive, Red John would have never allowed them to survive, not with what they knew.

But there was something else keeping Teresa from experiencing this love to the fullest: Patrick had been Angela's lovers, not just her gigolo, but a man she had fallen for, a man who seemed to reciprocate her feelings, even if not as strongly. Sometimes she wondered if Jane had been in love with her aunt or he had just merely been fond of her like he said, if she hadn't used him as much as he had used her…. what kind of future were they supposed to have together? They were a cop and a prostitute, was they really naïf enough to actually think it could work? God. Hadn't she learnt anything from Cho's experience with Summer?

"I knew who you were the moment I saw you at Marie's doorstep from the window of the bathroom" she heard a voice at her back, and turned, seeing Patrick casually leaning against the doorframe, naked chest, juts trousers, no shoes, no socks, hands in his pockets. He walked in her direction like he was some predator, putting her in an angle, his hands on the wood of the balcony, each side of her body, chest pressed together, his breath hot on her lips, mere inches apart.

"Angie always told me of what an amazing creature you were, _are_. She never regretted her choices, because she didn't want for you to pay the price of your family's mistakes. She loved you, and now I understand why. How could I not?" Suddenly, he took her in his arms, holding Teresa like for dear life, kissing lustfully the skin of her neck while his hands were already trying to undo the buttons; she arched in his arms, trying to give him better access, and her own hands roamed his body, trying to give as good as she was getting. "How could I not love you, Teresa?"

Suddenly, though, memories flashed through Teresa's mind, images of Angie, and everything she had done to help her niece and nephews, and here she was, with the lover of the woman who had loved her like a daughter, who had given up on her freedom to allow that child to be really free.

"Teresa'" he asked, sensing that something was wrong with her, that she was having second thoughts. The night before she had tried to push him away too, tried to retreat in herself, but a touch and a kiss had brought her back in his arms. Now she was doing the same, but she seemed far more convinced in giving up on him and what was going between them.

She closed her eyes, biting her own lips, trying to push him away, knowing all too well there were just too many things to discuss; but as soon as her hands touched his solid, warm body, felt his heart beneath her palm, she was lost. Patrick was there with her, and it had been so long since someone had wanted her like he did… her small fits started to hit him, him who didn't fight back, him who allowed her to release all her tension, her fears and anger, until the hits turned into soft, erotic caresses, and once again she was lost in his embrace, her lips seeking the comfort and the warmth of his whole person with a passion she didn't remember having felt for any other man in her life.

Differently from the night before, Patrick didn't go for slow and tender, nor he tried to reach the bed: he took her there where they stood. He wanted to show Teresa how she made him feel, how the controlled Patrick Jane could easily lose it whatever she was concerned. He ripped apart her (his) shirt, and merely freed his member from his pants while pressing her against the hard wood, her legs around his waist while he pressed into her, biting the tender skin of her neck to remember the woman who she was supposed to belong to right from then, marking her as his own as he took her to highs she had never known before, the waves of the sea crashing against the reefs and the seagulls like some kind of natural symphony , their personal background… because, like the water was crashing against the rocks, so Patrick was doing with her.

He was rocking her own world, taking it apart and then reassembling it, and for the first time in her life, Teresa Lisbon didn't mind that someone else took control away from her own hands to take the situation in theirs; losing it could be good, sometimes… and if it was Patrick Jane doing it, it was all the better. Maybe she could still hope, maybe she could still dream, maybe life wasn't as bad as she had gotten to think.

Maybe he could save her, from herself and her past. She just had to save him as well, and to do, they had to have a plan.

He left her body groaning, and both sat on the wooden floor, Teresa in his lap, her head on his shoulder, drawing invisible patterns on his legs. "I know you have the USB" she told him, still looking in front of her, his lips stilled on her shoulder. "And we'll need it, if we want to stop Red John once and for all. What do you say about it?"

Jane looked in the void for a while, lost in his thoughts, then he lifted his gaze to meet Teresa's eyes.

"There's something you should know before going on with this plan, Teresa." He told her, serious, his eyes filled with worry for what he was about the tell her. "I've got a friend of mine to decrypt the files, and you'll not like what we found out…"


	9. Chapter 9

thanks for the reviews and the likes... if you'll be nice enough, I amy even get to post the epilogue this weekend!

* * *

As soon as she had listened to Jane, she looked at the USB drive in her hand, and played a little with it, like she was studying a foreign object.

"Angie wanted for me to have it just in case. She hoped that if Thomas didn't know where to find it, he would have left her be." He said, leaning against the counter of his kitchen, Teresa sat at the table, deep in concentration.

"Yeah, it really worked out pretty well, that plan of yours." She sarcastically told him, more an afterthought to herself than a lecture to him. She didn't blame him for Angela's death, nor the woman herself. There was only one culprit, and it was Thomas McAllister.

"Angie didn't want to hide. Thomas had always had mistresses. She thought that until she didn't leave him for me, he would have been all right." Teresa turned, and in silence she looked at him with a lifted eyebrow. Jane rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms, pouting like a petulant child who had just been lectured by a stern parent. "Yeah, I know. In retrospect, I should have seen his Irish pride coming."

"It's not just that." She told him, checking on her phone for stores nearby that sell USB storage devices. "Thomas has always been extremely possessive. Not only of Angie, but of the whole family. Of everything. You know, I think that in… thirteen years they had been married, he never referred to her, not once, with her given name. Only _my wife. _What does it tell you, mister profiler?"

Jane smirked. "I'm not a profiler. Nowadays, what I do is referred to as _mentalism." _He paused for effect, like the showman he still felt sometimes, also because she wasn't giving any sign she understood him. "A mentalist is someone who uses mental acuity, hypnosis and, or suggestion."

"Aka what you do makes you a master manipulator of thoughts and behavior." She closed the internet page on the burned Pete had provided her with, and turned to look at him, clearly not amused. "You know that you shouldn't broadcast such things when you talk with the woman you are sleeping with and claim to have feelings for, right?"

"Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon…" he tsk-tsked her like she was a child, and got closer and closer to her, giving her a peck on the nose. "I'm being honest here, I think you should appreciate it. After all, isn't this why you and Walter didn't work out?"

She didn't answer, but stood up and took her car keys and her jacket. "I need to go to buy something, but I should be back in…"

"No" he said, thinking deeply. "No, coming here again would be a mistake. I think we should elaborate a plan right here right now. And then part."

She looked around, her heartbeat increasing rapidly as she remembered the hours, days spent hiding from Red John's men. "You are right." she admitted, sighing, falling on the same chair she had been previously sitting like she was dead weight.

"Ok, so what?" she asked, clearly annoyed. She wasn't mad with him- yes, a tiny bit, she had to admit, because she hated have to say that he was right –but mostly it was the whole thing. With the USB device now decrypted, they knew who they were supposed to trust, but there were things she had preferred didn't discover. Her world was crashing down all around her, and people she had always trusted to be friends and allies, she had just discovered they had been enemies all along.

"Are you all right?" he asked, already knowing the answer to his silly question. Teresa wasn't alright. She just couldn't be- not when she had tried to turn her life around just to find this wall of lies and deception all around her, a wall built by the same man she had tried to escape from: Thomas McAllister. Red John.

He sat on the chair close to her, and took her in his arms, allowing Teresa to bury her head in the crock of his neck, and draw invisible patterns on her clothed back, trying to reassure her, and himself too, careful not to touch her shoulder. What they were about to do was dangerous enough, and it killed him to think that, just when they had found each other, there was a big chance that neither of them would come out of it alive.

"We can't keep the USB with us. If something was to happen to us…" She told him, sniffing, once parted from him. "That's a quite common model, replacing it and copying the data will not be a problem. I've got a friend in Quantico, I'll send the original to him. He'll know what to do."

"Do you still have your old documents?" he asked, as she took a fake driver ID from her jeans, putting it on the table. "Just in case. They may ask you for an ID."

"I know. I was planning to give it to them anyway." She looked at the device on the wood of the table, and skimmed the surface with a manicured nail. "Then what? I lure Thomas out?"

Jane shook his head. "You may have been family once, but you stopped the day you left them, and besides, you are a cop now- and a clean one. He knows you'd never get back to them, not even if your life depended on it."

"Ok, so… I deal with my boss. Keep him occupied, but do you honestly think that Thomas will grant you audience? And even if he did, there's no way in hell he'll be there alone."

But Jane just shook his head. "You told me before, Lisbon. Thomas sees himself as an owner, an all-powered being. He'll never see me as a threat. To him, I'm just a gigolo who tried to steal money from the crème de la crème, a low-life who doesn't deserve the attention of his people. Besides, as he thinks I tried to steal Angie for him, he'll see this as personal, and he'd be offended, were he to delegate this job. No, trust me. he'll do this on his own- also because calls his friends in the Police would risk exposing them too much, and he can't risk losing precious allies, especially right now, when the circle is closing around him."

Teresa snickered. "So, you think that Thomas' arrogance will be his downfall… but what do you say about yourself? You sound exactly like him!"

"Well, it's not arrogance if I'm being honest, don't you think?" he asked, trying to lower the tension. "So, we all set?"

She nodded, and without adding anything else, she gave him a lingering kiss, putting all her emotions in it. when she left the house, she turned one last time at the door, looking with longing and despair at Jane, his eyes fixed in her own. She was already in her car and leaving, when Jane took the burner and called a number Teresa had found in Angie's phone, the phone rang, but went straight to voicemail.

"Thomas? Hi. I'm Patrick Jane- but I guess you'll probably already know by now. I just wanted to let you know that, if you want back your list, tomorrow I'll be at the Alexandria Cemetery chapel, Angela's final resting place, at ten AM. If you don't want all your dirty secrets laundered on the Los Angeles Times, be there with two millions dollars, I'm sure it'll not be a problem for you, especially given what you could lose if I spill my guts. Bye, Tommy boy, I'm sure I'll see you soon."

He closed the call and looked at Teresa, speeding away in the distance in a red convertible. Now the games could truly begin, it was time for everything to end. In less than a day, he would be free once again, and this time forever. And with any luck… with the marvelous Teresa Lisbon at his side.

|/\|/\|/\|/\|

The was no doubt who Red John would call in case things went wrong with Jane: his first lieutenant. So, at half past nine, it was in his office Lisbon stormed into, deadly serious.

"Stay here." she ordered Rigsby as she entered in the office, despite the secretary's protest. But she didn't want to listen to any of this, so, once inside, she locked the door at her back.

"Detective Lisbon? What can I do for you?" he asked her, his voice trembling a little as his hand tried to go, stealthy, to a drawer where she guessed a gun was hidden.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." she told him, grunting very un-lady like. She walked slowly in his direction, with a malicious smile printed on her luscious lips, and she cornered him in his seat, her hands each side of his body, trapping him where he stood.

"_Tyger, Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye, could frame thy fearful symmetry?" _She said.,. chuckling, staying erect and proud at crossed arms before Bertram.

"Its'… it's impossible. I would have known if you were…" she gulped down mouthful of saliva, his eyes huge, dark and scared like he was a trapped animal.

She tsk-tsked him. "Oh, please. The association is need-to-know. Why should you have known that we are all but pawn in a much bigger game?" she giggled a little, skimming over his chest, leaning over him. She saw his pulse thundering in his neck, and she felt delighted and powerful like a goddess. "Besides, why should I have betrayed my family? He set us all up in motion, Gale. He decided what was our place to be long before he allowed you to become director. Nothing I have ever did in my life was to defy him, but to please my lord and master."

"I don't… believe you." He said, opening and closing his eyes. He was struggling for words, but she simply shook her head. She didn't care about how he felt. All she wanted was to keep in control. Was to keep him talking, punishing him for his betrayal.

"All right. if you want proof, I'll grant you proof." Sighing, she parted from him, annoyed, and took off her jacket, throwing it on Bertram's desk; then, slowly, like she was sensually strip-teasing for him, she unbuttoned her shirt, and stood in just jeans and black lace bra before her boss' eyes. Again she kneed so that she was eye-level with him, showing off her left shoulder to him, where three big dots could be spotted- a tattoo. Bertram, almost reverently, skimmed over her skin, but before she could actually touch the drawing, Teresa kicked his hand away, and stood, angry and proud, and got dressed again, like she wasn't having a care in the world, like she wasn't embarrassed at all.

"I… I don't understand." He tried to tell her as he stood and looked at her confused; Bertram was showing a stranger amount of respect for her, something he had never done before, and the thought made her sick to her stomach. When they had been both just cops, he had dismissed her, like he dismissed everyone else but himself. But here, with the words leaving her lips and the dots adorning her frame, she was like a queen, and him a peasant.

She wanted out, now.

"There' been a change of plan. My uncle wished for you to allow him to take care of Jane on his own. He doesn't want your men to get involved." She said, calmly, cold, like it was everyday business. Bertram was about to say something else too, but she stopped before she could add anything else. "He wish to teach a lesson. Our family… our society. It can't be betrayed. And to steal from us, is to ask for certain death."

"I… yes, of course, but it was my understanding that…"

"It doesn't matter what you believed to know." she said at low voice, hissing the words. "He is Red John. If anyone is allowed to change their mind… it's him. don't you think? Besides, as I told you, this is a family matter. My uncle says that, with Angela cheating on him so openly, Ray got some weird ideas, about taking matters into his own hands. And who do you prefer in charge of our little secret society of villains, a fully functioning sociopath like my uncle, or Ray, a man with enough demons to fill an entire asylum? And that's not all, and you know if. Were my uncle to fall and ray to follow into his footsteps… the other gangs wouldn't like it. if my uncle fall, there will be a war, and blood will be spattered on the streets of our marry town. And whose head do you think will fall first, uh?"

He simply nodded, and make to leave, when he called her back. He was still sitting in his chair, still startled and scared. "I'm… Teresa, I'm so… I'm sorry. If I had known… I would have never threated you the way I always did. Will you… will you put in a good word for me with Thomas? I'm sure your uncle will understand the situation if you'll explain to him that…"

"So, what should I tell him, uh? I should tell the great and power Thomas McAllister, the mighty Red John, that you, Gale Bertram… are scared that he'll punish you because you haven't played nice with his niece?" she took few steps back in his direction.

"I've… I've always respected him, and I've always done what he asked me to do. If you'll put in a good word for me, Teresa, I'll make sure you'll have everything you want. But please, try to make him understand that.."

"Enough of this!" she said, and as soon as she screamed the words, her voice filled with rage, Wayne tore down the door, and pointed his gun at him, as Teresa took a pair of handcuffs and closed the around her (former) boss' wrists, Steiner following them, opening Bertram's mouth and examining his teeth.

"He is clean." He said, and Teresa nodded. She lowered a little the sleeve on her left arm, and then, with natural water, she wetted a napkin Bertram had in his pocket, and passed roughly the thin material over the dots. Soon the drawing disappeared, while on the white fabric were left angry dark stains.

"It's henna, you idiot." She told him as officers were bringing him away. She turned towards Wayne, re-adjusting her shirt.

"Do we have all on tape?" she asked, and he nodded. She sighed in relief, massaging the knots in her necks, when her phone rang, and she looked at the display with fear and anticipation.

It was never a good thing when her phone rang. Even if she already knew who could be there. Even if she was scared of what he would have told her… despite feeling in her heart that her worlds was crashing down, due to Patrick Jane's actions.

She repressed a sigh of despair as dread filled her very being; she had always knew that her life had been written in the stones, marked at birth by her father's surname. A long time ago, she had hoped to escape her destiny, and for a short time she had believed herself to be free. But now, listening to the thrill of her mobile, she knew she had been wrong all along.

Her life, and her future, were written in blood red ink. And from something like that, there was no escape.

|/\|/\|/\|/\|

Jane entered in the chapel of the cemetery right on time, and from the heavy door, he could see the silhouette of Thomas McAllister in the distance, in the first row of seats of the chapel. The man's body language talked about security and a man in control of himself, his persona and anything and anyone around him, and the thought made Jane mad with anger and resentment. McAllister thought he could buy anyone, force people to do as he pleased, but it was time to teach him a lesson: having Angela killed was going to be the last of his sins, no matter what.

"Hello, Thomas." Jane said, walking casually in direction of the small altar, hands in the pockets of his pants like he belonged there. He joined the older man, and stood before him. "You know, I don't see any money here…"

McAllister chuckled, shaking his head. "In few minutes' times, Bertram will be here, and he will arrest you for Angela's murder, so I didn't see why wasting time collecting money."

Jane made an amused face. "Yeah, well, unfortunately, I've got people on board, and they are stopping your accomplice from joining us." Jane grinned, and took away a small gun from his pocket, and pointed in at the older man, making McAllister shiver in fear. Jane grinned: McAllister was trying to keep it cool, to fake a control he didn't possess any longer, but the truth stood in his eyes; the grey irises were shining in fear, and Jane could see the slightly accelerated heartbeat on his pulse point. Anyone else would have missed it, but Jane had been raised to see everything, read everyone, and he was a master in what he did, the best that there was.

The idea of McAllister's fear was igniting something in him, it kept the adrenaline pumping in his whole being. The mobster had spent his live thrilled by the fear he ignited in people, getting off on the power he held upon them. He could have been the head of his clan, but he was no magnanimous father nor king, but merely a tyrant, ruthless killer who used blood to make sure everybody stood within his ranks. Teresa had betrayed the families by saying no to a forced marriage, and she had been casted away, her own blood unable to fully understand the length of her sacrifice, while Angela… Sweet, loving, brave Angela had paid the price twice, once with her freedom, and the a second time with her own life.

He wasn't going to allow McAllister to walk free, whatever he had promised Teresa. He knew that, despite their words, she was aware of his intentions, and deep down she shared his motives. After all, what was the alternative? McAllister would have never seen a prison, he had too many friends, too many means, one way or another he would have walked free. And him out there, it meant that neither him nor Teresa would have never been away from his shadow; they would have been forced to always watch their backs, waiting for the day he decided to strike and get his revenge, and that was no life.

"Stand up. I'd feel bad about firing at a sitting man." Jane chuckled. Besides, he already had a plan. He had a gun with him- another one- and it would have been easy to fake self-defense. Maybe it was a rushed plan, maybe he hadn't thought things trough, but he wasn't going to allow that man to walk away alive. One of them was going to die in the Chapel: and if he was going to have things his way, it was McAllister's blood that was going to be spilled on the marble floor.

McAllister did as he was told, but he never stopped smiling, walking in front of Patrick, like to dare him to do something; the conmen and gigolo just kept walking backwards, feeling his resolve being eaten away with each step he took. "You'd never do that, kid. You don't have it in you." McAllister told him, taking the gun in his hands and putting the barrel against his chest, right on his heart. "C'mon, show me you are a real man. It's just that easy…."

Jane gulped down a mouthful of saliva, his eyes huge and scared, his pulse point throbbing insistently on his neck like he was a scared animal. McAllister dismissed him, shaking his head, shaking like an exasperated parent, and took the gun away from the hand of his adversary, throwing it away.

"I told you, you don't have it in you." McAllister said, punching Jane in the jaw. Jane was younger, but he was smaller, and lacked strength and exercise, and with just two hits he was on his back on the cold floor, Thomas on his, keeping punching him. Jane's eyes were turning black, his whole face was dirty with blood belonging to both of them. he took the beating, and didn't say a word, wasn't able to fight in any way, so he didn't do anything when McAllister searched his pockets for the USB stick, and took it for himself. The mobster took few steps, and retrieved his jacket. Chuckling and singling to himself, he dialed a number on his phone, and talked with someone, just few words Jane didn't catch as he was too busy trying to stay alive and think about how escape his sorry fate.

"I told you, kid. No one steals from me and get away with it." McAllister told him as he still gave Jane his back; the man half-turned, and when he did so, he swore under his breath and turned as white as a sheet, and gunshots filled the air. McAllister fell on a row of seats, and soon, on trembling legs, Jane joined him, the spare gun in his hand. He felt again the power and the adrenaline, as he understood that the criminal knew it was his time.

"Please don't… don't kill me." McAllister plead, his voice low as his blood was running on the floor.

"Oh, now you want mercy? After everything you've done?" Jane snickered, his weight on the dying man's body, the barrel of the gun against his chest. "And please, don't get me wrong. I'm not hesitating here- just savoring the moment."

A heavy thund was heard in the distance, followed by a feminine shriek, and then frantic sobbing.

"He…help me! he wants to kill me!" McAllister screamed, his voice broken and uneven. The woman looked around, scared, and then, at her feet, she saw Jane's gun. With trembling hands, she took it, and pointed it at the blonde man.

"Let… let him go…" the woman said, between sobs as she got closer and closer.

"Listen to her… please… let me live…"

Jane's gaze went from McAllister to the woman, and he saw something in the corner of his eye. There was a little change in her, her hands were shaking a little less, her grip was a little more secure. It indicated that not only she wasn't scared in any way of the situation, but that she was accustomed to firearms. The breath died in his throat as he realized it had been a trap all along: maybe Bertram wasn't even supposed to be there to begin with, and that woman, and that alone, was the backup.

"Tyger, Tyger…" Jane said, and as soon as muttered the next few words, he was game, and fired another shot without hesitation, this time to the brunette, just to turn to McAllister once again.

"And now, it's your turn…" he said, but as soon as he said the words, McAllister, with whatever force was left in him, hit him. the adrenaline and the fear gave him enough strength to run outside, an hand covering his injured side, but soon he was thrown on the ground as Jane tackled him from behind like he had seen Lisbon doing once.

"Please… please..." he begged, again and again and again as tears were filling his eyes. But Jane didn't relent, and put his hands around the killer's throat, his grip firm and strong as he hushed him with bloody red eyes.

"I want you to blink once for no and twice for yes… Are you sorry you killed Angela… and tried to kill Teresa'" McAllister breathed hard, and blinked, twice. "Good. Good. And are you afraid to die?" McAllister blinked twice again, and without hesitation, Jane tightened his grip around the man's neck, until his gurgling didn't stop, and he stood behind him, motionless, eyes wide open and as clear as the sky. He breathed, unevenly, and then, as he quickly walked away from the crime scene, sniffing lightly, he took his phone, and called the only person in the whole wide world he wanted at his side in that moment, the only one he cared about, and he wanted to escape with.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Here it is, the epilogue, before the season finale, just like I promised. I wanted to thank all the people who've followed and encouraged me through this little AU; your encouragement has been amazing, and kept me motivated to go on! So... happy season finale, that Heller could be with us, and let's hope that we'll not be disappointed and/or heartbroken.

* * *

The phone kept ringing insistently, and when she checked the ID, she only saw a foreign number. Looking quizzically in front of her, Lisbon answered, and on the other side of the line, she heard the frantic voice of Jane; he talked and talked and talked, without taking a breath, and she didn't manage to stop him.

"Teresa... It's over. It's done. We are finally free. I just want you to know that I'm okay. And… I'm so sorry, but… I can't stay here after what I've done. McAllister may be dead, but… I can't risk it, Teresa. Just can't. I have to leave. But… I'm gonna miss you, but maybe… if you still want me… I'll be waiting for you at Sacramento Amtrak until midday. Just know that I'll understand if you'll not be there. Or if you'll be there to just put me in handcuffs. Goodbye Teresa. I love you."

The line went dead, and Teresa looked at the cellphone in her hands like it was an object she had never seen before.

"What's going on?" Wayne asked her, his hands on her shoulders. She lifted her eyes and looked at him, and for an interminable moment, she couldn't say a word.

"It was Jane… he did it. He killed McAllister." She paused. "And I know where he is going to be next… but we have only twenty minutes before we are going to lose him." Teresa clenched her fists, gritting her teeth as she felt at battle with herself: the cop on her wanted to arrest him for what he had done, but the woman wanted him, and the life they could have together.

Jane had only told her he was going to be at the station, but hadn't bothered telling her where exactly, or which train he intended to take, probably thinking that she would have changed her mind and decided to arrest him. But, after having run to the station at a frantic speed, running through red lights and with the breath dying in her throat, as soon as she and Wayne reached their objective, she looked at the big, old-fashioned clock, knowing that her resolve was vanishing with each step she took. Her mind kept going back to their days at the carnival and to his beach house in Malibu: she couldn't forget how he had cared for her, took care of her, body and soul. And then… his phone call. She couldn't shake the feeling that, despite the strange way they had gotten to know each other, while on the run, and even if they had basically just met…

She loved him. Just like he said he loved her.

She frantically run, looking everywhere between the tracks, searching for familiar blonde curls in the crowd surrounding them, all the while checking her watch, feeling dread filling her very soul as the clock kept ticking, twelve o'clock getting closer and closer.

And then, as a train passed by, she saw him, standing there on the other side of the tracks, looking straight into her eyes, like they were the only two humans left on the planet. Both of them felt mixed emotions within their very hearts, love and sorrow, desire, despair and guilt. Teresa was still at war with herself, still didn't know what she was supposed to do. Few minutes before, a patrol confirmed finding the remains of the late Thomas McAllister, thus making of Patrick Jane a murderer.

She wanted to arrest him, because she was a cop and it was her duty.

She wanted to thank him, because he had freed the world of McAllister's shadow.

She wanted to follow him everywhere he would go, because she loved him.

Her hands reached for the gun at her side on autopilot, and even if he was seeing her, he didn't move, Teresa wondered briefly why he wasn't trying to escape any longer; after all, how many times had he run? After he had found Angie, after she had taken him with her…

Jane was always escaping, she thought, shutting her eyes against the onslaught of emotions. He had done so since he was basically just a kid. He was a liar and a cheater, a gigolo, a man who had always, always lived of felonies, a man who had escaped justice because of his good looks and because he could sweet-talk anyone in doing as he pleased, with his voice, his body, hypnosis and his most powerful weapon, sex. She wasn't going to lie: she had been wondering if he hadn't been doing the same with her too, using nice words, sex, _love _to get her where he wanted her to be, to do what he wanted her to do, like it was all an act in the grand scheme of Patrick Jane's life & lies.

But a look into his eyes told her it wasn't the case, it was genuine affection the one he felt for her, and not the mask he always wore. For once in her life, she believed, wanted to believe, in a man. _Her man. _

She took a step in his direction, her eyes never leaving his, and she could see a big smile rising on his face, but as suddenly as the smile had appeared, it vanished. She looked at him quizzically, stopping where she was, and then she felt a strong, big hand encircling her wrist, and when she turned, Wayne was there, looking at her like he had never seen her before, with a rage and hate that scared her, and made her feel the little girl who run away when her drunk of a father got home late at night.

"Teresa…" he said in an intimidating voice, tightening the grip on her wrist. "Don't."

His eyes never left hers, but Teresa couldn't do it any longer; Wayne wasn't the man for her. It didn't matter if she decided to stay there or follow Jane, one way or another, her relationship with Wayne ended that day, for both their sakes.

She simply shook her head, and kissed him one last time with tears in her eyes, a lingering kiss full of longing for things that hadn't been and shouldn't have been; she knew that Wayne loved her, but it was time for him to accept reality, it was time for the both of them to just let it go of their past: together, they would have just hurt each other, with the weight of their past reminding every step of live of what they had been forced to go through because of their families.

"Teresa, please…" Wayne begged, sobbing a little, shaking his head as he couldn't believe she could really considering leaving him and their life. "Teresa… he is a criminal. He is…"

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Wayne." She closed her eyes and left a butterfly kiss on the corner of his lips, and in that moment he knew it was farewell, and that it was over. Reluctantly, he let it go of her, and turned, not wanting to look at the woman he loved leaving with another man, the knowledge pained him enough as it is, but having the image of her, happy and carefree in Jane's arms, something she had never been with him, would have broken him beyond repair.

Teresa took the few steps that separated her from Jane, and when they were in front of each other, for few minutes they didn't say a word, they just looked into each other eyes. When just two minutes were left before midday, when he saw that she was still at battle with herself, Jane finally spoke, his hand reaching out to cup her face, Teresa leaning in his touch, sighing in pleasure and security at closed eyes.

"I know that you love your job, Teresa… but every time I look into your eyes, I know that you are tired. There's so much death and corruption all around you… and for every criminal you put behind bars, other two emerge. Aren't you tired of this?" he said, plea evident as in his voice as in his water-green eyes. Teresa opened her mouth in an "O" of surprise, feeling like he was reading her mind: that was exactly how she had felt in the last few months, long before her first encounter with Patrick Jane.

"Teresa, come with me... Europe, South America, Australia, I don't care as long as it's with you. You've always wanted to start anew, and this is our chance. I'll not be a sorry excuse of a gigolo or a conman any longer, and no one will ever know you've been related to the Lisbons and the McAllisters… you'll finally be able to start anew for real… you'll be free from your family's blood for real."

She gasped, and her eyes got teary as her mind started to wonder, and imagined what ifs scenarios: a new life where no one knew her, nor of her past, where she wasn't going to be judged because of the faults of others… and with Patrick at her side. It was so good… _too good. _She had never dared to dream of such a life: could she really do it? Finally leave out all the rest?

She closed her eyes and dared to think about such a future. She decided there and then that it wasn't a matter of being able to do it- she wanted that life, it was just that easy. Still imagining their future together, she smiled, and her mirrored her expression as he took her in his arms, spinning her like she was a ballerina, or a weight-less child.

They kissed, igniting a new spark within them, and suddenly everything stopped existing, and they were the only ones that mattered. As they parted, both breathing hard, Jane never let it go of her, always kept an hand on her side. Looking around, smirking mischievously as Teresa smiled against the rough skin of his neck, careful that no one was staring at them, he took her gun and her badge, and threw the first in a bin, the second in the pocket of a guy who passed him by.

When he was done, midday struck, and their train whistled, announcing their imminent departure. Smiling like he had never done before, like he was the happiest man alive, he took her hand in his own, and guided her in the First Class compartment, and when they sat, cuddling together like they were teenagers in love for the first time, he produced like from thin air a little red book, testament and living proof of the woman she was going to be from then on.

"Wherever you want, Teresa. Just as long as I'm with you… we can be whoever we want. Where we want." He said, kissing her once, tenderly, on the lips, resting his forehead against her own, the greatest sign of intimacy.

She opened the little red book, and looked with a lifted eyebrow at the woman smiling at her from the picture- the same who had been on her CBI badge, and despite having seen that image every day for years, it was like she was looking at it with fresh new eyes, for the first time.

"Teresa Hogan, born in Chicago, on December the 5th, 1983. Profession: social worker." She lifted her eyes and looked at him, smirking a little. "Nice of you to allow me to keep my name and my birthday. But, a social worker, really?"

"Meh, you're a good-natured woman, Reese. Besides, you've recently left your job, as you've just married a billionaire you met through the job. Name's Patrick Barlow, does it ring any bell?" he said, and kissed her again.

"Barlow I get, but a billionaire? Seriously, Rick…" she said, rolling the nickname on the tip of her tongue, putting the word as it was erotica made sound.

"Oh, don't worry. I didn't steal any money." He rolled his eyes. "Not exactly."

"Jane…" she hissed at low voice, lifting her right hook, but he just smirked like the Cheshire cat.

"Relax woman. I simply liquidated the McAllisters' assets, thanks to my dear hacking friend Wylie… dividing the family fortune in five parts. One for each one of you Lisbons- even if I made sure that your brothers will have to behave to get their hands on it, especially Tommy. Who will have to divide it with your nice, otherwise he'll never get anything. The last part is in a protected trust found, for the people in your family, and in the McAllister clan, who suffered because of the faults of many."

Neither of them said anything, she simply cupped his face, her eyes watery. "It belonged to your family, Teresa. McAllister took it away from you and your siblings when he married into your family. That's what your mother and Angela would have wanted, and I'm glad I've been able to help."

Teresa smiled, and allowed the train to lull her to half-asleep. "I've always wanted to live in Australia." She told him, smiling, her eyes still closed, her voice low and muffled. She allowed her head to fall on his head, and rested, for real, probably for the first time since they had started their crazy adventure together.

Jane kissed the crown of her hair, and, hands crossed behind his head, he sighed at closed eyes. "Australia, here we came!"

It was far from over. This adventure could have ended, but many others were going to follow; only, in their new life together, they would have dealt not with criminals, mobsters, prostitutes and con-men, but a big house by the sea, new friends, a lot of love and little Charlotte, who joined them less than a year after they had met. Patrick still did what he was best at, but he started conning people who were conmen themselves, giving back what they had stolen, like a modern-day Robin Hood operating in the shadows. He lived of the little he kept for themselves, and thanks to a good financial advisor, the fortune belonging to McAllister increased exponentially, allowing them to live the beautiful life Jane had craved as a carnie kid, to leave a trust fund for their baby and help people out- because despite her denying being made for social working, Teresa ended up being quite the philanthropist, on top of a beloved and loving mother and wife.

Maybe it wasn't the kind of adventure Teresa had dreamed about when joining the police, but it was everything Patrick had always wanted out of life- and they couldn't have loved it any more than what they did.


End file.
